


The Long Run

by alyjude_sideburns



Series: The 'Actor & Jockey' Series [2]
Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Sequel, This is the sequel to "Ordained"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 16:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 55,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1135174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Blair are now in California and shooting the movie "The Front Runner" - but all is not well.  This is a sequel to Ordained.</p><p>Warnings: violence</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is Part 2 in the 'Actor & Jockey' Series. Part 1 is Ordained, which is here at A03.

_Note: In case The Front Runner is a book you missed - here's a summary for you, as done by Arianna so you'll better understand the 'movie'. *grin* And major thank YOU to her for providing this summary! She's a wonder!_

  
**The Front Runner**  
by Patricia Nell Warner  
A Brief Synopsis

  
Since this story, The Long Run, refers directly to and, to some extent, parallels this novel set in the United States twenty years ago, a summary of the main themes of the storyline may be useful to the reader. This classic gay love story centers around and is told from the POV of Harlan Brown: a tough, conservative, ex-Marine, divorced, nearly forty track coach in a small college. Harlan is not entirely comfortable with his sexuality, has a number of repressed issues about it, and made his living for a couple years as a hustler in New York City after he’d been falsely accused of seducing a young male athlete he’d rejected. He’s never been in love, and he has a firm rule about not sleeping with his students.

Enter Billy Sive, one of three up and coming star runners forced out of a prestigious university because of their sexual orientation, who hitch-hike across country to appeal to Harlan to take them on as their coach. Billy is twenty-one, a practicing Buddhist, who was raised by a gay father and his lover, a transvestite, so he has always been comfortable with his sexual identity. He has had four serious romances before Harlan, so he’s no child who doesn’t know his own mind or who he wants to share his life with. His father is a leading attorney on sexual orientation civil rights cases. Harlan falls hard for Billy, but hides his feelings. Billy falls equally hard for Harlan, but is convinced that Harlan dislikes him – which seriously affects his performance. Billy is a ‘front runner’, someone who takes the early lead and sets the pace of a race, in his case, long distances races, and he has aspirations for the Olympics in Montreal. Long story short, they get together, are extraordinarily happy and, under Harlan’s tutelage, Billy does make it to the Olympics.

The subplot under the romance story addresses the issues of being gay in that era. Though neither Billy nor Harlan seek to attract publicity or controversy – indeed, do their best to avoid it – it finds them just the same. Harlan protects Billy as much as he can but when Billy has to face reporters or power mongers in the athletic world, he does so with dignity and class. Billy doesn’t anger easily, but is righteously angry when the situation calls for it; he’s also ruthless on the track and will run past endurance, past pain, like an ‘animal’ in his drive to win. They face a great deal of woeful ignorance, gratuitous hate, and ugly discrimination as the story unfolds.

It’s impossible not to fall in love with Billy’s charming, endearing, quietly determined character, most especially when picturing ‘Blair’ in the role. The story is, ultimately, a heartbreaking tragedy that draws on the violence of the Olympics in Mexico and Munich as real life inspiration for horrific fictional events. Billy wins one gold medal, but is gunned down in the final stretch just moments before he would have set a new world record in the race he most wanted to win. Beyond the tragedy, though, is the inspiration of Billy as he lived his life, and the impact he had on others. He taught Harlan how to love, how to trust; and, even before he was martyred, he became a hero who greatly impacted on how gays were perceived in his world. This is a powerful and poignant novel with very authentic characters and with themes as relevant today as they were to the world twenty years ago. If it’s not been made into a movie, someday it should be.

Preferably, some day soon.

 

 And now, on to the story!

 

 

"Okay, Blair, that'll do it. Thanks."

The bright lights dimmed, their heat immediately dissipating. Blair reached behind him to the stool, picked up the bottle of water and took a long swallow just as the director, John McIntyre, walked up and patted him on the back.

"Great job, Blair. That was one of the best auditions I've seen. You're a natural."

"Uhm, thanks. You made it very easy."

"Hey, it's what I do."

"John, here's the tape."

McIntyre, normally a second unit director for Cyclops Productions, turned and took the offered item. "Thanks, Terry. Tell the guys they did their usual great job."

Terry, a young intern with the studio, nodded and, before leaving, favored Blair with a bright 'come hither' smile, something Blair was getting used to in Hollywood (even though he was in Burbank). Men, women, it didn't matter; 'come hither' smiles were the only kind they knew in show business. Blair thought it was almost funny. Almost.

Exhausted, he thanked John again and headed for the small changing room. He quickly divested himself of the so-called costume – tight jeans and a blue v-neck sweater – and slipped back into his own clothes, shaking his head at the silliness of it all. You just had to love this thing called the motion picture business. For an audition requiring that he wear jeans and a blue sweater, he'd shown up in jeans and a blue sweater – and was promptly asked to change – into jeans and a blue sweater. Okay, so the new outfit probably cost three times more than his, but really, like the camera could tell?

Heading out, he couldn't help but wonder if, indeed, the costlier clothing would make a difference on film; somehow affect how he performed. Did a person automatically act differently in expensive designer clothing? He thought about the six hundred-count Egyptian cotton-sateen sheets on Jim's bed and grinned. There just might be something to this whole 'the more expensive, the better' thing.

Whistling, he exited the sound stage and out into the bright sunlight, grateful that he now wore the kind of glasses that darkened automatically; Jim's idea.

Okay, now there was something positive about his new life: glasses. He'd had to wear contacts for much of his day when racing and had hated it, thanks to how easily his eyes were irritated by them. When he could finally remove them, his eyes were always red-rimmed and burning. But here, he could be himself and that meant wearing glasses, especially these new ones. God bless Jim and his ideas.

Now, as he headed for Jim's office, he gazed about him with the same strange sense of being in a Dali painting that he always experienced when on the lot. The constant activity never failed to amaze him. Actors, actresses and extras strolled around in costumes ranging from cowboys and Indians to green aliens. They mingled and chatted between sets and sound stages while small golf carts carrying VIP's on cell phones zipped around the gourmet catering trucks that seemed to pepper every "street" on the lot.

The compact restaurants-on-wheels served popular meals like Panini sandwiches, salads with exotic ingredients, crepes made to order, fresh fruits and vegetables and an amazing array of health drinks. Not that a hamburger couldn't be had because it could, and Blair ought to know. The truck that usually got Jim's attention was Wonder Caterers which specialized in gourmet burgers and hot dogs. They were famous for their "Wonderburger" which was loaded with three kinds of cheese, avocado, a fried egg, bacon and Ortega chilies. Blair wouldn't have thought they'd go over well on a studio lot but everyone, Jim included, figured since they were made with ground turkey, the damn things were healthy.

He turned the corner for the home stretch, the building that housed Jim's office now in sight. As a very famous actor brushed past him, Blair found himself counting up item number two in favor of his new life. While as a horse racer, he'd certainly been one of the tallest riders, he'd nevertheless been otherwise surrounded by men – and not a few women – who tended to be much taller. But here in the land of make-believe he'd discovered that most performers were actually shorter than he was – like the actor he'd just passed. On screen, the man (an action star almost on par with Jim) looked huge and easily Jim's height – but in reality, was a shade under Blair's five-seven. Jim himself was the rarity; a man who looked tall on screen and, at a bit over six feet, didn't disappoint in person.

Blair reached Cyclops Productions and jogged up the steps to the door, but had to turn sideways to avoid two "suits" (as Jim called them) that rushed out of the double doors, both talking a mile a minute - but not to each other. Shaking his head, Blair stepped inside.

Cell phones - you never saw a "suit" without one, but thanks to the fancy headsets, you usually saw them walking around the studio looking as though they were talking to themselves.

He got into the elevator, rode up to the third floor and, once there, turned right. Jim's office was the only one with a closed door, something that never failed to tickle Blair. In a business where posturing was the norm; where conversations with wives about shopping lists turned to in-depth discussions with Spielberg should someone walk by, Jim was unique. Where others would yell out to their hapless assistant to "Get Geffen on the line, pronto!" should they *not* be on the phone when someone walked by, Jim couldn't have cared less.

Even the door to his office proclaimed him different. Instead of a fancy, brassy sign telling the world who the office belonged to, there was only the office number (307). Still grinning, Blair walked inside, damn grateful that his partner was the man he was.

"Hey, Blair, how'd it go?"

The question came from Megan, Jim's sometime assistant (*sometime* because she was attending classes with the goal of becoming a private investigator which had to be the height of something in Hollywood). She was tall, and thus, like Jim, another rarity on the lot, topping out at a shade under six feet. She had red hair, midnight blue eyes and was originally from Australia. Her accent never failed to delight him, along with her Aussie slang. Now he perched on the edge of her desk and said, "According to McIntyre, I did fine. I suspect he tells everyone the same thing, though."

"You're wise beyond your years, mate. But in this instance, I'd wager a week's salary that he wasn't pouring it on and you really were good. You're a natural."

He picked up the piece of Aborigine sculpture that graced her desk and turned it lovingly around in his hand as he said, "That's the phrase he used, too."

"That's because you are," Jim said from his open doorway. He held up a video case. "I just watched it."

Blair put the sculpture down and stood. "Wow, that was fast. How'd it beat me over here?"

Grinning, Jim motioned him inside as he said, "You walked, it drove."

"Clever tape," he said as he waved goodbye to Megan and followed Jim inside.

***

Jim closed the door behind him and immediately pulled Blair in for a kiss, one that was way more than your typical "haven't seen you in four hours" kiss and much more like a "it's been five years" kiss. Just the kind Blair loved from Jim.

When they parted, both a bit breathless, Jim led him over to the couch and sat him down. Settling in next to him, he said, "It's already a done deal, Chief. McIntyre filled Ben in, praised you to the skies and the contract is being done up as we speak."

"Damn."

Jim looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Okay, that wasn't exactly the response I was expecting. In fact, that particular 'damn' sounded as though you were hoping the audition would flop."

"I guess in a way – I was."

"Care to tell me why? We've been working on this since we left Cascade, Chief. I thought you wanted it as much as I."

"I do, Jim. I swear it. It's just that… look, The Front Runner is a popular book and Billy a very popular character. If the fans aren't pleased, the movie will die before it’s finished. And believe me, when I think of Billy, I sure don't see me."

Jim gave an impatient shake of his head and reached around Blair for one of many copies of the book he possessed. "Obviously it's been a while since you read it, Chief." He flipped in a few pages and read, "He looked calmly back at me through his gold-rimmed glasses…"

Jim tapped Blair's gold-rimmed glasses.

"Behind those glasses were the most beautiful eyes I'd ever seen in a man." He glanced up, peered at Blair's blue eyes and said, "Check." He turned the page. "His face, I thought, was young American Gothic. It was pleasantly handsome, fine-cut with high cheekbones, high forehead, blunt nose and a good mouth. His mop of light brown curls looked as though it had been through a wind tunnel." He closed the book and set it back down. "If you ask me, our problem is that you may be too good-looking for the role. But otherwise, she pretty much described you. Sure, you're hair is a bit darker, but we'll lighten it for the movie, it won't take much. And the length it is right now, while a bit long, fits perfectly with the era." He paused, then grinned. "Of course, Billy should have been so lucky to have had your mouth." He traced Blair's full lips with his finger before leaning in and kissing him.

When he was done, and Blair was feeling a bit dazed, Jim took his hand and, fingers mingling with Blair's, said, "I have faith in this movie -- in us, okay?"

Blair recovered from the kiss enough to say, "In spite of the fact that you left out the whole height description? Which read, if I remember correctly, something like, 'his slender frame at five-foot-eleven and weighing in at around 138 pounds'?"

"Come on, Blair, you've seen actors and actresses up close now. You know darn well how the camera can make the viewer believe whatever we want them to believe. You'll look that tall on the big screen and you definitely have the slender body—"

"Jim, it's been six months since I stopped racing and worrying about my weight. I'd say my body is now its real self, and stocky is a better description than slender."

"Chief, you look perfect for the role, okay? As a rider, your leg strength was critical and as a runner – it's the same. You need to get used to the fact that you *are* Billy Sive. Period. You're going to have to trust me on this." He cocked his head. "You do trust me, right?"

Blair gave him an almost bittersweet smile. "This is your business, Jim. Yeah, I trust you. I just don't want to let you down."

"You could never do that, Blair. Never."

***

Blair yawned, grabbed his coffee mug, took a swig, and went back to filling out the Screen Actor's Guild application. Evidently everyone from the guy who provided ice right up to the directors were unionized and if Blair wanted to act in the movies, he had to join SAG. As he signed his name at the bottom, he knew how lucky he was. There was a kind of Catch-22 in the business: you had to have a SAG card to work – but you had to have work to get a SAG card. Thank God for Jim, who was paving the way for him and undoubtedly making things much easier than they'd ordinarily have been.

Blair sometimes felt guilty about how fast this was happening. He knew damn well there were hundreds of struggling actors out there, any one of them willing to give their soul for the role he was about to undertake. Shaking his head, he got up and carried the application out to Megan.

"Okay, here it is."

He handed it to her and watched as she checked it over. Smiling, she nodded. "Perfect." She picked up a letter and attached it to his app. "This proves that you've been contracted by Cyclops Productions, Shaman Productions and Paramount Studios. I'll have this delivered today and you'll have your card by Monday."

"You said… Shaman Productions?"

"Yep. That’s Jim's company. Didn't he tell you?"

Understanding dawned. "Yeah, he did, just not the name. I like it."

She grinned as she slipped the app and letter into a manila envelope. "So far it's only a company on paper, but if The Front Runner is a hit, we might just buy this building," she said with a cocky grin.

"Why Shaman Productions?" he asked, curious.

"He spent several months on location in Peru for 'Rainforest Revolt' and, as a result, became quite friendly with one of the local tribes. He spent a great deal of time with their Shaman so, when he was deciding on a name for the company, he went with it."

"Oh, man, I remember reading about his time with the Chopec. He stayed with them even after shooting ended, right?"

Her expression sobered. "It was a particularly grueling shoot thanks to a director who made life hell for the actors. And of course, Jim, as the star of the film, was in literally every scene. It was also very physically demanding. By the time it was over, he was exhausted and life with the Chopec offered him some much needed peace, believe me."

Blair rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Weeks with the Chopec and their shaman? This was worth investigating. He ambled back to Jim's office and sat down on the couch. He'd read quite a bit on the Chopec when he was attending Rainier – they were one of the few proactive tribes of the rain forest, working hard to protect their land. But more than that … Blair distinctly remembered reading in Burton's Monograph that one of the tribes he'd tried to find in order to confirm his theories on sentinels – had been the Chopec. Back in Burton's day, they were one of the "hidden" tribes of the rain forest – rarely seen with many believing them to be nothing more than a legend.

Was it possible that Jim used his senses during his time with them? Blair jumped up and grabbed his backpack. Pulling out his journal and a pen, he dropped back down on the couch and started writing.

***

Jim listened to the proposed budget which, while miniscule, would allow him to have most of the crew he wanted. He'd been blessed to work with the same basic people for the last five years and really didn't want to go into his first directorial project without them. The major stumbling block now was the man he wanted – no – needed – as his cinematographer. He wanted the controversial, and expensive, Cal Demond, and was prepared to go to battle for him. Yes, his reputation was that of a true artist; touchy, self-absorbed and very protective of his work, but he was also the best cinematographer in the business. And while The Front Runner might not be an epic, the many and varied running and racing scenes would need the touch of a perfectionist like Cal. Jim could visualize almost every moment of the movie and photography was paramount to bringing the story of Billy and Harlan to the screen. Wes Elliot and Steve Moran, the money men from Paramount and Cyclops respectively, were, even now, shaking their heads.

"The budget simply can't take shooting on location in New York and Europe *plus* Cal Demond," Wes said, his voice firm. "Jim, surely you understand what we're up against here. The studio made a deal and while we have every intention of living up to it, the fact is, this particular project doesn't exactly thrill our accountants. The chances are good that even with you in the starring role, this movie is going to lose money. For God's sake, man, it's about two gay men and it has a goddamned unhappy ending."

Jim rubbed at his temple and cursed another headache. Damn, who'd have thought he'd be dreaming of the old days when he was only an actor. God, he hated money talk. He looked down at the proposed budget in front of him, picked up his pen, and scratched out the line item for European on-location shooting. Without looking up, he said, "There. Does that give me Cal?"

Wes didn't need to look at Steve to answer. Paramount was the major money-lender in the deal and he represented them. "Shoot in Vancouver and I think I can guarantee you Cal – if he says yes."

"Meaning no New York?"

"Jim, you know as well as I do what we'll save shooting in Vancouver. Hell, you've got Ben Elder lobbying for a shot at being in the film and if we confine the shoot to the studio and Vancouver for exteriors, you can probably get him and Cal both. And don't sneeze at Elder. You said yourself he'd be perfect for the part of Vince."

"I'm surprised he wants the role," Steve Moran interjected. "It could ruin him. Sure, he's got two hits under his belt and his asking price has shot through the roof, but playing a gay runner? A militant gay runner and a secondary character at that? I just don't see it."

"A role in what could be a watershed film," Jim countered almost angrily. "And I can certainly understand his desire to stretch his chops and do some real acting in a film that could lead to an Academy Award."

"Or the Actors 'Where are they now' Graveyard," Steve muttered.

Wes cleared his throat and, with a warning glance at Moran, said, "Let's get back to the question at hand. Jim, the bottom line is that if you want Ben, and *if* he'll work at less than half his asking price, and you want Cal, you need to give up location filming in both New York and Europe. That's it."

"Then I guess it's Vancouver," Jim answered, his frustration under tight control.

"It looks like we're a go then," Wes said as he ran a hand through his short, graying hair. "You have the budget and Jane Carson is already at work casting the remaining parts. We'll start negotiations with Elder's people. He'll really add to the box-office draw and help offset the fact that our other lead is a total unknown."

"Hardly unknown, Wes. He was the top jockey in the world, Athlete of the Year, you name it. And you saw the Q numbers on him. They were through the roof."

Wes held up a hand in surrender. "All right, you've already convinced us and if you hadn't, the audition tape would have. We'll keep you posted on negotiations with Elder but I think you'd best handle Demond. You know him, have a rapport with him. Just keep the dollar constraints in mind when you speak with him."

"Like I could do otherwise?"

Hearing the bitterness Jim couldn't quite hide, Wes said, "Jim, this is a business – you of all people should know that. We're taking a huge risk here, don't negate that and don't underestimate it."

"Wes, Paramount already has In & Out in the can, for God's sake, and the buzz is terrific. We've had Philadelphia, Lillies, Chasing Amy, Bent—"

"I get it, Jim. I get it. But In & Out is a comedy and Philadelphia, well—"

"Well, nothing, Wes. Unhappy ending, remember? Academy Awards, remember? We couldn't be making this film at a better time if we tried."

"Or a more controversial film," Steve added.

"Look, we can go around and around on this, but the bottom line is that we have a budget, we're a go," Wes said in an attempt to placate Jim. "So let's get it done." He closed his folder, indicating that at least for him, the meeting was over. As he rose to his feet, he asked, "You'll be at the Westphal party, right? It could be an important evening for us."

"Blair and I will both be there. Simon Banks will be joining us as well."

One eyebrow rose in interest. "Really? Now there's a man I'd like to meet."

Seeing the glow of a money-man faced with the prospect of meeting one of the richest men in the States brought Jim to his feet. "Don't even think about talking to him about investing in the film, Wes. You understand?"

"Whoa, since when—"

"Wes, I mean it. Besides, if I know Simon, he'll offer up on his own and won't need your strong arm to help him decide. Just leave the guy alone, all right?"

"Fine, fine. Forget I said anything. We're out of here; still have four more meetings on the docket."

***

Jim sat in the now empty room, using the time alone in order to calm down and rein in his anger before heading back to his office. He stared down at his black, leather portfolio and scowled. God damn budget.

He hated having to fight for every little scrap from the money-men. At the current budget, even with Ben Elder on board – and he had *no* confidence in Paramount's ability to get him, no matter how much Ben wanted it – and Cal Demond, it was nothing more than a "B" movie. The script had been pared down to the basics, with key scenes lost, and his shooting schedule was a joke. He'd also lost the battle regarding the love scenes. Sure, *a* kiss had been given the green light, but that was it.

Damn, damn, damn.

This was _not_ the movie he wanted to make. Not even close. It sure as hell wasn't the dream shared by Blair and him.

Speaking of Blair, it was time to face the music. He gathered up his notebook and headed out and down to his own office. Checking his watch, he gave a low whistle. What a surprise, the meeting (okay, battle) had run longer than planned. Blair must be chomping at the bit. He opened his door and wasn't surprised to see Connor's unmanned desk since it was after six, which meant she'd been gone at least an hour. He cocked his head but could hear only Blair's even breathing. For the first time in hours, Jim smiled. The calm inhales and exhales told him his partner was sound asleep. He opened the door to his inner office cautiously – and sure enough, Blair was sacked out on the couch, an open magazine across his chest, his glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose. Jim doubted he'd ever seen anyone sexier – or cuter.

He walked to the couch and stood over him, taking in his fill. He never tired of looking at his partner but had to content himself with moments like these – moments when Blair was asleep. Not that Blair would remain this way for long, he never did. He had the uncanny ability to know that Jim was observing him and he'd awaken. But until then, he'd keep right on looking.

"What time is it?" Blair mumbled all too soon.

Indulgent grin in place, Jim answered, "After six. You hungry?"

Blair pushed his glasses up his nose, opened his eyes, yawned and nodded. "Starving, actually. Meeting productive?"

"Productive might not be the right word, but at least we got Cal." He turned to his desk and set the notebook down before perching on the edge of it.

Forgetting the magazine on his chest, Blair sat up quickly and it immediately slid to the floor. Looking sheepish, he swept it up and tossed back on the couch as he said, "That's great. I know how much you wanted him. What about—"

"I got my usual crew but that wasn't all that difficult since most of them are on the Paramount payroll anyway. I guess you could say that we're officially in pre-production, Chief, with a planned shooting date of the sixth."

Blair fingered his hair back and said, somewhat in awe, "So this is really going to happen, then."

"Oh, yeah. The Front Runner is finally going to make it to the big screen."

Proud that he'd kept the bitterness out of his voice, Jim got up. "Come on, let's head out. We can decide about dinner on the way home."

***

The dinner debate ended on the side of bringing it in, so they stopped at Styx' Pacific Grill and ordered all their favorite Chinese dishes, enough for a small army but they were both starving.

The drive home was the usual unbelievable experience for Blair; the Southern California traffic being what it was. For the life of him, Blair could never figure out where everyone came from, let alone where they were all going. It seemed to him that businesses should simply operate more shifts that were say, an hour apart. It was like the stupid road construction hours. It seemed so obvious to him that all they had to do was work night shifts. There were always people who preferred those hours -- but no, they had to do it smack in the middle of rush hour.

Like now.

"Jim, I swear, this town is—"

"Don't say it, Chief."

"I’m just saying—"

"No, that's the point. You *aren't* going to say it."

"But you have to admit that if they'd just—"

Jim held up a finger in warning. "Blair?"

"Okay, okay. I won't say how all they need to do is hire folks who love the night shift. I won't say it. Happy now?"

Grinning, Jim shook his head. "You're impossible, Chief."

Blair made the lane change in order to take the junction for the Santa Monica Freeway and, as he merged onto the new freeway, said, "I can but try. And by the way? What's with calling me 'Chief' all of a sudden?"

“What can I say, it fits. I look at the hair and jewelry – and it just kind of slips out."

"Oh. Okay."

"Does it bother you?"

"Nope. I kind of like it. You say it in such a … well, you have this tone when you use it… and I like that, too."

Jim snuck a peek at Blair. "I have a 'tone' when I say 'Chief'?"

"Yep."

"A tone. I see. Could you be more specific about what it is you like about said tone?"

"Not without the loss of a certain amount of masculinity."

Jim found himself smirking. "Chief?"

Blair chuckled. "You did that on purpose."

"What could possibly be in my tone that would cause you – or anyone – to doubt your masculinity?"

Blair gave out with a sigh, knowing full well he'd have to explain. "Okay, here goes. When you say it – there's this possessive note and I kind of get off on it. Very politically incorrect, if you know what I mean."

Jim mulled that over and, after a couple of moments, said, "You're right, you just lost about twenty-five percent of your masculinity on that one. But I figure you have it to spare so you're cool."

"You jerk."

***

Jim turned on the kitchen light and they put the bags of food on the center island. Blair immediately opened the slider to allow the sound of the ocean to fill the room while Jim got down plates and glasses. They decided, after one look at the sunset, to set up out on the deck. It only took a few minutes to arrange everything and they were soon seated, plates and wineglasses full, a candle shedding a gentle glow on their meal as the sun set over Malibu.

It was moments like this when Blair almost forgot where he was. He'd been in California for over six months and still felt as though he were in a foreign country. He missed racing, the thrill of it, missed the sounds of the ranch in the early morning hours and, yes, he missed GM, Simon, Joel and everyone else at Banks Folly. But then an evening like this would come along, and he'd look over at Jim and the missing would turn from a burning ache to a barely-there gentle tug. He might still feel like a fish very much out of its water, but Jim somehow made that feeling more bearable.

"You okay?"

Startled by the sudden question, Blair blinked rapidly before focusing and saying, "Yeah, sure. Just… thinking."

"Regrets?"

Blair might not be a sentinel, but he was proving very adept at hearing things in Jim's voice and, right now, he heard fear. He smiled warmly and shook his head. "No way, man. Best decision of my life."

"But you miss—"

"I rode to beat Barnes. I did that. Sure I miss that life – it was habit. A good habit, but not something I'd planned on doing forever, let alone for much longer. To be honest, I was getting tired of watching my weight to the degree necessary to be a successful jockey. Now I just have to watch it for the camera."

Jim chuckled at that before saying, "The camera loves you, Chief. Don't worry so much."

Blair speared a piece of broccoli from the carton of Walnut chicken and, waving the chopsticks in the air, said, "I sure hear that term a lot in your work. What exactly does that mean? How does a camera 'love' someone?"

Jim watched the broccoli caught so expertly between the two pieces of wood as it was waved about and said, "It's kind of magical to me. I've seen the most beautiful people be rendered downright plain within its eye, and the plainest individual turned into a Garbo. It loves angles and planes and works with shadow and light to show off to the best advantage the face that can dazzle it. When the camera loves you, there are no flaws. Thin or otherwise, it will always show its love off to their best advantage, and you, Blair, dazzle it."

"I looked pretty normal to me – flat even," Blair snorted. "But you – although, now that I think about it, the first thing I thought when I turned around to look at you in the stable was how much more incredible you were in person. But you can hardly say that the camera turns you into someone plain. If that were the case, you wouldn't be the star that you are."

"Actually, I have a theory about that—"

"I bet you do," Blair said with a grin.

"No, really, I'm serious."

"Okay, give. I'm listening."

"I think the camera can, occasionally, be fooled. See, I've never shown any of the real me on screen. It was always the role, usually a very two dimensional man – if I was even that lucky. In essence, I give the camera a façade and nothing more. I'm not the man on the screen – not even remotely. Sure, the camera can still appreciate what's in front of it, and occasionally I give it a real smile, but mostly, it's capturing a fake person, one or two dimensional."

"So seeing you in person becomes a shock for most people – who already think you're the greatest looking thing on the planet. And you're right about your smile. That was the second thing I noticed. It was so different – so much – more. I think I fell into it immediately."

Jim leaned over and gently pushed the hand still holding the broccoli towards Blair's mouth. When his partner ate it, he grinned and said, "And here I thought it was when we touched."

Blair chewed thoughtfully and, after swallowing, said, "The touch – that was totally different. That was – that was love. Falling into your smile was pure, unadulterated lust."

"Ah. Glad to know the difference."

"I say it's a damn good thing you share that particular smile only rarely. Otherwise, you'd have men and women attacking you every time you went outside."

Jim gave an amazed shake of his head. "You know, Chief, you're a very weird man."

"Well, duh."

***

_Cascade, Washington_

 

"I don't know how to explain it, Boss. I just – feel it."

GM stood before Simon, hat in hand. He was clearly nervous as he turned the hat around and around between jittery fingers, his gaze remaining focused on the ground instead of with Simon.

"You think something's wrong, don't you?" Simon finally asked.

"I… wouldn't say that, Boss. I wish I could explain. I just know I need to go."

"You've always had a sixth sense where Blair was concerned – I actually grew to rely on it; only question is – how do we explain your arrival before us?"

The hat stilled. "I don't… you could maybe…."

"You sure this weekend won't work?"

GM scratched his head, adjusted his hat brim again, kicked at the area rug, looked out the French doors and across the expanse of land and, blue eyes narrowing in concern, said, "Sure, Boss, sure. I'm just a worry-wart, you know that. This weekend will be fine."

Simon searched the man's face, realized that waiting was the last thing GM wanted to do, and since he had to admit that he'd just as soon get there now as later himself, said, "So who says we have to wait until Friday to head south? I'll make a few calls tonight, change some appointments around, and we'll fly out tomorrow. Sound like a plan?"

Face brightening, GM nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, Boss, that'll work. That'll work real good."

***

Blair sat in the large easy chair by the bay window, one reading light illuminating the script in his hand. Jim was on the couch, papers spread out on the coffee table, a pencil behind his ear while he studied the budget and film schedule. He'd originally planned several location scouting trips, but those were off now since, once in Vancouver, they'd use the shooting locations on the Paramount list. Damn, he'd really wanted to find the perfect New York location for Prescott College. That was so key to the film. Instead, they were going to use a place twenty miles out of Vancouver that had been used in several Paramount productions, both on the big screen and the small.

Which would reduce his film to….

Don't go there.

"Jim?"

He glanced up to find Blair staring at him, a worried expression on his face.

"Yeah?"

"What's wrong? You look like you could cheerfully kill someone."

Deliberately schooling his expression into one of puzzlement, he said, "Nah, just need to get used to the paperwork involved when you work behind the camera." Then he grinned and added, "Okay, so I could kill the man who invented paperwork."

"Anything I can do?"

He shook his head. "Wish there was, Chief. But no."

"I can be a pretty good assistant, you know."

"You're doing what you need to do right now, namely familiarizing yourself with the script and starting to learn your lines."

"You have to do both, so share."

He shook his head again. "No, really, I'm cool. Besides, I want your opinion of the script. You've read the book as many times as I have, if not more."

Blair got up, dropped the script on the table. "Actually, I'm in the mood for some ice cream. How 'bout I run down to Cold Stone Creamery and bring us back some?"

Surprised at the sudden change in his partner, Jim was nevertheless relieved. Besides, ice cream sounded damn fine at the moment. "That sounds too good to pass up. I'll take the Black Raspberry with some walnuts tossed in."

"Got it." Blair walked over, dropped a kiss on the top of Jim's head and added, "Be right back."

Jim nodded and watched him as he walked up to the foyer, picked up his keys and walked out. When the door closed, he let out the breath he'd been holding. Damn, he hated lying to Blair, but he didn't want to worry him. Besides, Blair would have plenty of questions once he got a good look at the script.

Resting his head back against the cushion, he thought about the weekend and the charity event. He didn't really hold out much hope that he'd get any significant investors other than those they would be finalizing – and if he did, certainly not enough to make a huge difference. But maybe… maybe there was more he could do….

Suddenly he got to his feet and hurried to the phone. Lifting it from the charger, he started dialing even as he walked back to the couch.

"Murray? Sorry to interrupt you at home, but I need some information about my portfolio."

***

Blair rolled the windows down and let the cool ocean breeze into the car. It wasn't a long drive to Cold Stone Creamery, but it was a drive he needed. Something was bothering Jim and the man wasn't sharing and that bothered him. On the other hand, fair was fair because he wasn't totally honest with Jim either. Relationships were like that, he supposed. How could anyone be so completely truthful with another?

On the other hand, how could he help Jim if he didn't know the problem? And no, the same couldn't be said in reverse because his problem was personal. It was about adjusting to a new life and hell, wouldn't that come in time? Sure. And with Jim's help, he'd do fine in the movie – he would. Jim wouldn't… he'd never risk… so that meant that yes, he could go in front of a bunch of cameras and pretend to be Billy Sive. Because Jim believed in him.

The lights of the small mini-mall came up on his left and he turned on his indicator, pulled into the left-turn lane and, when it was clear, made the turn into the shopping center. He wasn't surprised to see the number of cars in front of the ice cream shop, not on a warm and beautiful night like tonight. He had to drive up and down the aisle a couple of times before being able to park, but eventually, he was inside and in line to order.

***

Jim hung up and, satisfied by the answers, dialed another number.

"Wes, yeah. Look, I have a proposition for you. One that will allow me to make the movie I want, and preserve your budget. You game?"

***

Ice cream carefully bagged and on the front seat next to him, Blair turned back onto the Coast Highway and headed home. Traffic was a bit heavier now, thanks to the cars pouring out of Pepperdine University. Must have been some kind of special event, he thought as he started to slow down. He could see the steady stream of headlights winding their way down Malibu Canyon Road from the university toward the highway – and him. Yep, some big event. Couldn't be a game, though, not this early in the week. So a concert perhaps.

The light for Coast Highway went green so he put his foot back on the accelerator, glad he'd be ahead of the new crop of cars coming from the school. He glanced to his left, at the college sitting atop the hill and overlooking the Pacific ocean and felt a slight pang of loss. He missed Rainier. Missed taking classes. He tore his gaze from the school even as he considered checking the university out later. Nothing said he couldn't start up with the whole school idea again. After the movie, anyway.

Sure, why not? Why the heck not.

Something out the corner of his eye caught his attention and, as he turned to look, he realized that a small red sports car had decided to run the light. Thank God for peripheral vision, he thought as he stomped down on the brake pedal.

There was a squishy feeling with his brakes and he frowned as his Mustang didn't slow the way it should, but he was able to stop, as were the cars behind him, albeit with a squeal of brakes. The sports car shot through the intersection and headed north on Coast Highway. By now Blair's light had gone red so he sat at the intersection, breathing heavily at the close call. He was going to have to take the car in and have the brakes adjusted, that was for sure.

The light finally went green again and he started down the hill. As he picked up speed, he decided he'd better ease back now and not strain the brakes. Unfortunately, when he stepped on the pedal this time – nothing happened.

"Well, shit," he hissed out.

The car continued to pick up speed. Up ahead was another signal, this one allowing the Malibu Colony shopping center to enter and exit the highway. He thanked his lucky stars that it was green for him. He sailed through and slowly, now that the highway was flat again, he was able to slow down. He tried the brakes again – and again – and again, nothing happened. Damn, they were gone completely. Fortunately, the shoulder on the right was wide enough and he eased his way over and coasted to the point where he could apply the hand brake – which worked. He came to a stop with a slight jolt.

Times like this, he loved cell phones. He pulled his out of his jacket pocket, speed-dialed the Auto Club and, while waiting for them to pick up, got his card from his wallet. Five minutes later, he hung up. A tow truck would arrive within the next thirty minutes. He'd better call Jim, who'd start to worry otherwise.

***

Jim glanced at his watch and frowned. Okay, ten minutes to the shop, ten minutes *in* the shop and ten back. So – it was crawling up to forty minutes since Blair had left. The phone rang and, instinctively, he knew it was his wayward partner.

"Blair?"

_"Damn, how'd you know?"_

"The sound of your ring," he joked, relieved to hear Blair's voice.

_"I know you're good, but not that good."_

Chuckling, he said, "So what's up? You lost again?"

_"Oh, man, you're never going to let me live that one down, are you?"_

"You got lost in the Colony."

_"Hey, it's tricky in there."_

"Yeah, yeah. So, you call because they're out of my ice cream?"

_"Er… not exactly. Tow truck's on its way. I'm going to have him tow me up to Ben's. Can you pick me up?"_

"Are you all right?" he asked, trying hard to keep the sudden blossom of worry out of his voice.

_"I'm fine. Brakes aren't though. They're dead. But no harm, no foul. I'm about fifty yards north of the Colony Shopping Center and safely out of traffic. If you head out in about twenty minutes, you'll be at Ben's when Baby and I arrive."_

"Okay, but are you sure you don't want me to—"

_"I'm sure. Meet you at Ben's. But you could give him a head's up."_

"Will do. See you soon."

Jim hung up, rather proud of himself for not reminding Blair to be careful. He could be a real worry-wart where his partner was concerned. Maybe it was the age difference, or just his natural need to protect - Blair's theory, not his. He was, although he'd never admit it to anyone, relieved that Blair wasn't racing anymore. He doubted that he could have handled watching him. He didn't count the first and only race he *had* watched, since he'd been looking for a killer at the time.

Okay, so, he needed to call Ben.

***

Blair sat in the car with melting ice cream and waited for the tow truck – and while he waited, he made a decision. No matter what else happened this evening, he was going to make Jim talk about what was wrong. Maybe two people in a relationship should respect the need to have – what – secrets? Maybe. But he had a feeling this – whatever it was - was big and maybe being in a relationship also meant that you worked together when you could. So yeah, later, he'd get Jim to talk.

Maybe he could talk the tow truck driver into stopping along the way to the gas station and he could pick up a pair of thumbscrews. Surely they sold them at the local supermarket.

Grinning in the dark, he rested his head back and continued to wait.

***

Jim watched the tow truck make its awkward turn into the gas station, trailing the Mustang behind it. He could see Blair clearly, could see and hear him. Jim smiled at the conversation being waged between the driver and his partner, waged being the operative word. He should tell the guy he'd lose. Any discussion about the Mayans was a win for Sandburg. A few minutes later, Blair was standing next to him and watching worriedly as his beloved car was lowered.

"Blair, stop looking so afraid. We'll take good care of her, you know that," Ben Adams, owner of the station said as he joined them. "She's a classic and a sheer joy to work on."

"Yeah, well, what can I say? I worry about her."

"When was the last time you had anything done with the brakes?"

"Two, three years, I guess. New pads, I think. I was in Florida for a race and Joel took care of it for me. I can check with him if you need the information."

Ben shook his head. "Nah. Just curious. Can you describe how they felt and what you experienced?"

"I was approaching Malibu Canyon Road when some idiot ran the light coming out of Pepperdine. I had to hit the brakes and, while they felt squishy and sluggish, they did work, albeit slower than normal. I pumped them a bit at the light and then started down. I was picking up speed, as usual, so thought I'd better start braking early but when I depressed the pedal, I got nothing. They were gone. Fortunately, I was able to coast to the shoulder."

Ben nodded thoughtfully and said, "Sounds like a bad line. We'll check everything and I'll give you a call. Chances are, with a '66, that I'll have to bring in the parts. It could be a few days."

"Figured as much," Blair acknowledged.

"Okay, then, I'll take care of her myself and call you in the morning."

Blair held out his hand and, as they shook, said, "Thanks, Ben. Appreciate it."

"Aren't you forgetting something, Chief?" Jim asked, his lips quirking upward.

Puzzled, Blair shook his head. "I don't think so, man. What?"

"Ice cream?"

"Oh, fuck."

With Ben and Jim's laughter following him, he hurried over to the car and took the package from the front passenger seat. Holding the bag aloft, he trotted back to Jim and said, grinning, "Melted is good, right?"

Still laughing, Jim pulled lightly at a chunk of Blair's curly hair and said, "Come on, Sandburg, I want my dessert, melted or otherwise." With a wave at Ben, Jim led his partner back to *his* baby, a 1969 Ford truck.

While he had two other vehicles; a Lexus LX450 and a Ferrari, he actually preferred driving his trusty truck when home. Truth be told, he'd prefer driving the truck all the time, but he really had no desire to be considered "eccentric" by his peers. Besides, the truck, like Blair's Mustang, had been cherried out and, in his effort to be as true to the vehicle as possible, he'd kept the originals seats – which were about as comfortable as church pews when traveling long distances. And the drive to the studio could be hell, but in the Lexus, well, he had to admit it was a damn comfortable ride. Of course, riding with Blair in the Mustang wasn't bad either – especially with the top down.

As for the Ferrari, it was for show and nothing more but he knew that Blair enjoyed driving it and he enjoyed cramming himself into it in order to enjoy Blair – enjoying the Ferrari. Fact was, in the last months, Blair had actually driven it more than he ever had.

Now, as he pulled out onto the highway, he said, "The Ferrari's going to be happy while Baby's in the shop."

Blair chuckled and said, "Yeah, suppose so. But I've got to tell you, she may be a hot ride, but she's not my Mustang."

"I guess we're just a couple of Ford men," he said as he turned into the Colony.

"Yeah. I always knew there was a reason we connected so quickly."

"That and the great sex."

"Oh, sure, there's that, too. And don't forget the melted ice cream," Blair said even as he flipped down the sun shade and hit the remote that would open one of Jim's three garages.

"Actually," Jim said as he pulled into the drive, "I was thinking that ice cream would go good with your chest hair – and dick."

He pulled into the garage, shut off the engine, grabbed the bag and hopped out. As he moved toward the side door that would take them to the house, he tossed back, "Last one naked gets smeared first!"

Blair jumped out and yelled back, "You are *not* touching my chest hair with that ice cream, man!"

End part one


	2. Chapter 2

"Your dick, while perfect unadorned, definitely takes on new dimensions in flavor when covered with black raspberry ice cream."  
  
Blair smiled in the dark. "We'll have to try Rocky Road next time."  
  
"No way. The nuts this time were a problem that I'm not willing to visit again. Let's try the mocha chocolate on you and the vanilla cherry on me."  
  
"No, no, I want the coconut lemon custard on you next time. The Pistachio was good tonight, especially on your chest, but I have a feeling—"  
  
Jim stopped the discussion by planting his tongue in Blair's mouth. All the talking about food-covered bodies simply served to remind him how good Blair tasted all alone.  
  
When they finally parted, Jim started to move down Blair's body, but Blair stopped him. "Wait, man. Wait."  
  
Jim lifted his head and arched an eyebrow in question.  
  
"We need to talk."  
  
"*Now*?"  
  
Blair's laughter rumbled under Jim's hand and he smiled in response.  
  
"Yes, now. You need your second wind anyway."  
  
Sitting up, Jim ran his fingers through his short hair and said, "I should be insulted but a man can't ignore the truth. However, I was about to do for you, buddy."  
  
"I need my second wind, too. There, feel better now?"  
  
Laughing, he said, "Much. So why do we need to talk?"  
  
Blair pulled himself up, bunched the pillows up behind him, and settled back. "Because something's wrong and I think if we're going to work, you need to share. I'm thinking of making it a rule, by the way. And before you start saying that everything is all right, just remember the nickname you gave me two months into our relationship."  
  
"Damn. Bulldog Sandburg."  
  
"Yep. I won't let go, man. I'll bug you to death until you spill."  
  
"Give me some of those damn pillows. If I'm going to spill, as you put it, I want to be comfortable, too," he groused.  
  
Blair reached over and pulled Jim down until his head rested on Blair's chest. "There. Comfy now?"  
  
"You dick."  
  
"Talk."  
  
Jim closed his eyes, gave brief thought to lying, but decided that maybe he owed Blair the truth. That maybe – he should have brought him in on it from the beginning. Damn, this whole relationship thing was complicated.  
  
"Jim?"  
  
"I'm… processing."  
  
Blair bopped him on the side of the head. "That's my line."  
  
"Ow, and it's not exclusive."  
  
"Jim, have I ever shared my insecurities with you? Shared how I tend to think when something's wrong, that I'm it? Now, you don't want me to start doubting myself, do you?"  
  
"You are the least insecure man I know, Chief. But nice try."  
  
"Jim?"  
  
"Okay, okay. My budget for the movie sucks big time; Europe and New York are out and the movie's been pared down to crap. There are penalty clauses up the wazoo and while you were getting the ice cream, I called my accountant to get some idea of the kind of money I could get my hands on, and then called Wes and made him a deal. I'm waiving my director's salary for a percentage of the profits, and putting my own money into the film. If it goes belly up, we'll be living in the Lexus. And we *still* don't have Europe or New York, and I still don't have total creative control but damn close, and the original script is back, minus one love scene."  
  
Blair had never really had a pet, per se, but for four days, he'd once had a goldfish. He'd awakened one morning to find that it had jumped up and out of the small bowl. It was on his desk, flopping around, gills flapping wildly as it tried desperately to breathe. Blair figured he now knew exactly how that fish had felt.  
  
He remembered that he'd scooped it up and dumped it back in the bowl – only to watch it sink – and then float to the top, belly up. Now he knew exactly how that poor fish had felt out of water and struggling to breathe. In fact, he might be about to go belly up himself.  
  
"Sandburg, your heart is racing. Calm down before you pull an Alien on me."  
  
Blair took a deep breath, exhaled, repeated the procedure a few more times and, finally, felt a bit more centered. "Wow. That was… and you've been bottling this up for how long? And I'm betting if you had a big name actor to play Billy, you'd get more of what you want, but no, you've been plugging away for me—"  
  
"It's called campaigning and trust me, it didn't take much. You *are* a big name, Chief, so cut it out. And I didn't want to bother you but I can see where that was wrong because that's not what we're about—"  
  
"Exactly. We're all about bothering one another as often and as thoroughly as possible. And campaigning? You campaign for a particular actor?"  
  
"Yep. But in this case, all I had to say was that you were interested. I didn't have anything to do with arranging the audition, Chief. They jumped on it, so stop selling yourself short."  
  
"Fine, fine. So what will it take to get New York back? I have money, Jim. You know that. And at the very least, why can't I do something similar regarding salaries versus percentage? No, wait, that won't work. My salary is peanuts, isn't it? Comparatively speaking, that is. Okay, so I invest cash. Yeah. How much more do we need?"  
  
"First of all," Jim said as he sat up, sorry to leave Blair's chest behind. "I can't believe you missed an opportunity to crack wise about the short remark, and second, you're not going to touch your money. If this doesn't work out, we'll need to live off it. You'll be supporting me in the manner to which I've grown accustomed. And third, it would take more than we both have together – or at least what I did have – to get New York and Europe back, let alone total creative control."  
  
"Okay, so we push harder this weekend. I know you're hoping to pick up a couple of investors at the Westphal party, right? So we shoot for more—"  
  
"That money, believe it or not, is already in the budget. We know who's interested and we're just finalizing at the party. Sure, it would be great if a couple more dropped into our laps, can't deny that."  
  
Trying to lighten the mood, Blair said, "So what, you count your chickens before they're hatched in Hol-leeee-wood."  
  
Smiling, Jim said, "We do. Hol-leeee-wood is a pretty predictable place, Chief."  
  
"Did you count Simon and Joel? All I have to do is—"  
  
Jim looked at him then, his eyes hard. "But you won't."  
  
"Jim, Simon can easily—"  
  
"Sandburg, no."  
  
Blair was out of bed in an instant and pacing furiously, gesturing hands working overtime as he talked. "Is this some kind of macho pride thing? Because if it is, I'm gonna kill you. This kind of pride no one needs, man. We have a fucking movie to make and why make it if we can't do it right, tell me that, huh? Tell me that. Simon would *love* being involved and why not take what he'd offer so easily? At least enough to ensure that we get New York. Europe isn't that important, in my opinion. It's not a major part of the book and parts of British Columbia, not to mention Ontario, can easily pass. Why, I'm betting I won't have to say a word to him. I'm betting he'll offer on his own – is dying to offer on his own. Just let him do it, man. And say yes when he does. Dump this 'I'm a guy with pride' crap and get real, okay?"  
  
Jim watched him move and, even as the words registered, his anger melted as his body began to speak in his favorite language. Damn, Blair was beautiful when naked and wound up like a watch. He could have stopped him, could have said, "You're right," or "Okay, okay, Sandburg, fine, you win," but that would have halted the miracle that was an angry Sandburg and Jim was enjoying it far too much for that.  
  
Eventually, as all good things do, Blair's tirade came to an end as he ran out of steam. Jim loved those moments almost as much as the tirades themselves. Blair's words would peter out, his hands kind of freeze momentarily in the air before dropping to his side, and then he'd blink several times as if reacquainting himself with Earth. All of which was happening right now… yep, his hands are frozen in the air… and there they go, down like stones in a pond after skipping… and there's that cute blinking… yep, Earth to Sandburg, come in please!  
  
"What was I saying again?"  
  
Jim couldn't hold it in. He started laughing even as he said, "God, I love you."  
  
Thoroughly confused, Blair blinked helplessly back at him.  
  
***  
  
"You're kidding? No, that's great, Simon. How long can you stay? He is? Oh, man, that's super. I really miss him. Okay, sure. No, no problem, I'll pick you up myself. All right, see you guys tomorrow." Blair hung up and turned to Jim. "They're coming early, arrive tomorrow at eleven. That's not a problem, is it?"  
  
"You know it's not. This house is more than large enough—"  
  
"It's not just Simon and Joel – GM is coming too."  
  
Jim smiled. He wasn't the least bit surprised and had wondered how long it would take GM to get his ass out here. "You know there's room. We'll give Simon and Joel the guest house and GM can have the Sea room. Sound good?"  
  
"You sure?"  
  
Jim got out of bed and walked over to his partner. Looking down into the concerned face, he said, "Chief, come on, would it bother you if things were reversed?"  
  
"Of course not, but I'm not a sentinel who needs his privacy and with everything else you have to worry about--"  
  
"Chief, it's okay. Again, this is a large house. My privacy is safe. Besides, I *like* Simon, Joel and GM. It will be very enjoyable having them here. Trust me. But – I'm holding you to your earlier promise that you won't bring up money and the movie. If they volunteer, I'll talk about it, but otherwise…."  
  
"I said I wouldn't bring it up and I won't. A promise is a promise."  
  
"Good. And for the record, I value nothing more than you and your happiness, which, coincidently, impacts my happiness. Now, how long can they stay?"  
  
Smiling with unconcealed delight at Jim's words, he answered, "Until we throw them out, according to Simon."  
  
"So, a long time, then," Jim said with a grin.  
  
***  
  
Blair bounced up and down, heel to toe, heel to toe, as he watched the doorway. He was on the Imperial Highway side of the Los Angeles Airport, which was where Simon's private jet had just landed, late by almost two hours. He was excited at the prospect of seeing them all again, but oddly enough, he couldn't wait to see GM. The man had always been an island of calm sanity in Blair's world and he'd sorely missed his steady influence and wisdom since moving to California. He had a feeling he'd need GM in the coming months.  
  
The door to the small 'terminal' opened and in walked Simon, tall and larger than life, his booming laugh beating him by a millisecond. Blair found himself smiling and nodding and then he was surrounded and being hugged within an inch of his life.  
  
"Blair, you look wonderful, and my God, you got your hair trimmed," Joel exclaimed in wonder.  
  
"I did, but how can you tell? I don't think I let her take off more than a quarter of an inch," he laughed.  
  
"Bull, there's at least two inches gone," Simon huffed as he ruffled the shorter curls. "But it looks good and closer to Billy Sive."  
  
"Simon, that's not why I—"  
  
"Of course not, it's just easier with all the swimming—"  
  
"Exactly, GM," Blair said with a grin as he turned to face his old friend. "Swimming and surfing. Turns out Jim is a major surf nut."  
  
GM grinned at the young man and then, with some hesitancy, engulfed him in a hug. "Missed you, Boss," he whispered into soft hair.  
  
"Missed you too, GM."  
  
Blair stepped back and said, "So, you guys ready to head out?"  
  
"We are. The luggage should be out front by now, so lead the way," Joel said.  
  
Blair took them out of the small building and into the sunshine. He'd brought the Lexus so, after saying hello to Paul, Simon's pilot, he led them to the SUV. Paul quickly loaded the luggage in the back, said his goodbyes and headed for the plane. He'd secure it and then head over to the apartment in Manhattan Beach that Simon had set up for him. A pilot on Simon's payroll lived a good life even though he was at the man's beck and call.  
  
Once everyone was settled, Simon in the front with Blair, Joel and GM in the back, Blair pulled out of the parking spot and headed for the street.  
  
"Are you hungry? There are a couple of great places to stop on the way to Jim's," he asked as he made his right onto Imperial Highway.  
  
"Actually, we didn't eat on the plane, so yeah, food sounds good," Simon said as he turned to look at Joel and GM, both of whom nodded in agreement. "And where's Baby? I figured for sure we'd all be squished into it today."  
  
"She's in the shop. Had a problem with the brake lines but I should have her back in a couple of days."  
  
"Brake lines?" GM asked from the back seat.  
  
"Yeah. Seems there was some kind of hole or something. They were worn down, time to change them."  
  
"Didn't we get new lines for the car three years ago when he was in Florida, Joel?" Simon asked as he turned in the seat to look at his husband.  
  
"No, I think it was just new pads."  
  
Blair nodded. "Yeah, that's what I told Ben, the guy who's doing the work on Baby."  
  
"I could have sworn—"  
  
"No, Simon," Joel interrupted. "I think Blair's right – just new pads."  
  
"I definitely remember—"  
  
Figuring that the discussion regarding his brakes had run its course, Blair quickly asked, "Hey, how does fish and an ocean view sound for lunch?"  
  
Simon grinned and said, "Nice change of subject, Blair. We get the point. And since you asked, do you know where we can get a really good hamburger?"  
  
"Actually, I do. There's a small joint on the Coast Highway with the best burgers in town. Gets lots of hog traffic so you know it’s good."  
  
"Hog traffic?" Simon asked, one eyebrow arched.  
  
"That's motorcyclists, Boss," GM said from the back seat.  
  
"Ah. Hog traffic. Got it."  
  
Blair grinned. "No ocean view, but the ambiance can't be beat."  
  
"And the name of this paragon of hamburgerdom?"  
  
"Duke's."  
  
"Naturally," Simon said.  
  
***  
  
Blair was lucky. A station wagon was pulling out of a space within a few feet of Duke's as Blair turned into the small parking lot. The shops along this section of the street had marginal parking at best and one usually had to park several blocks from the intended store. Another stroke of luck was that since it was now almost two, the lunch crowd was gone and both of the two outside tables were free. Joel and GM quickly secured one of them while Blair and Simon walked up to the order window. The menu was visible through the small pane of glass and Simon called out several items he thought both Joel and GM would like. Joel ended up choosing the turkey burger with sweet potato fries and a strawberry soda, while GM ordered the loaded Duke Burger, regular fries and a vanilla shake. Blair opted for the grilled fish burger and onion rings, while Simon joined GM by duplicating his order. The young lady on the other side of the window took Simon's money and quickly put together their drinks, which Blair and Simon carried over to the table.  
  
As Simon swung a long leg around the bench and sat down, he said, "I don't how the food will taste, but the smells would have tantalized me from miles away."  
  
"I'd have to agree," Joel said after sipping his strawberry soda.  
  
Simon glanced around and whistled. "It's been a while since I've visited Malibu, and it's changed, big time. This area used to have a few homes and hamburger stands, but that's it." He looked over at Blair. "How far are we from Jim's place?"  
  
"About twenty minutes. He's in the Colony, on the beach. We have a wonderful view; you're gonna love it, guys."  
  
"I brought my swim trunks," Joel said with a wink.  
  
"Well, be prepared, Joel. Unlike our beaches, the sand here is soft and warm with not a rock or pebble in sight. Oh, and the Colony's beach is private. Only residents can access it."  
  
"Number three-fourteen," the young woman called out from Duke's kitchen.  
  
"That's us," Simon said as he got up, ticket in hand.  
  
"Stay put, Blair," GM said. "I'll help Simon." He put a hand on Blair's shoulder, keeping him down and then joined Simon at the counter.  
  
Joel took the opportunity to quiz his son. "You're happy, right?"  
  
Chuckling, Blair said, "Subtle, Joel. Real subtle."  
  
"What can I say? I worry."  
  
His expression softening, Blair said, "I know, and thanks. But don't. I've never been happier. Ever."  
  
He reached over and gave Blair's hand an awkward pat. "I'm glad. So maybe you can explain why Jim isn't here?"  
  
Now Blair laughed outright. "Oh, man, you're impossible."  
  
"So where is he?"  
  
"He had a meeting with his business manager and accounting people, but he'll meet us at home later this afternoon. He has a special welcome dinner planned, though. Happy now?" he asked with a grin.  
  
"Very."  
  
"Very what?" Simon asked as he and GM set the boxes of food down.  
  
"Very happy," Joel answered as he took his burger and fries. "Our Blair is very happy, which made me very happy to hear."  
  
Simon looked from one to the other and back to his husband. "I… see. Yes, well, let's eat."  
  
***  
  
"I'm so sorry I wasn't able to meet you," Jim said as he handed a glass of wine to Simon.  
  
He'd arrived home a bit later than he'd hoped, but found Blair, his fathers and GM out on the deck, soaking up a few rays. They'd all obviously been in the water so he'd quickly changed to join them. Now it was after six and they were enjoying a cocktail before Jim took them to dinner.  
  
"You've apologized three times. We'll forgive you one of these days," Simon said as he winked at Blair.  
  
Laughing lightly, Jim joined Blair on the couch even as he handed him his drink. "Well, as long as I'll be forgiven eventually, I'll survive."  
  
Blair held out his glass and clinked it to Jim's. "Cheers, and forgiveness is years away, man. Simon can really hold a grudge."  
  
"Ha-ha," Simon said after a sip. He then looked at the glass and commented, "This is a very nice Chardonnay, but not Californian, is it?"  
  
"Nope, it's from Oregon. A new winery. This is their premiere wine."  
  
"It's excellent, Jim. Truly excellent. The buttery pear overtone isn't overwhelming, which I find to be the case in most domestic Chardonnays."  
  
Blair looked over at GM and said, "I feel the same way about domestic beers, don't you?"  
  
GM lifted his frosty glass, turned it in the light, and said, "Yup."  
  
"Yep, those pear overtones in domestic beer just burns my butt, I can tell you that," Blair added as he looked at his own glass.  
  
Jim calmly reached behind him, pulled out one of the pillows, and gently whacked Blair on the back of the head. "Wine pervert. That's what you are. A wine pervert."  
  
Winking at GM, Blair nodded. "Yup."  
  
***  
  
"It will be about twenty minutes," Jim said as he walked back up to them.  
  
Simon, Joel, Blair and GM were standing around a tall circular table, one of many, beers in front of each of them. As Jim stepped in between Simon and Blair, he added, "They're a bit behind on their reservations."  
  
"As usual," Blair said before adding, "This is a *very* popular place."  
  
Simon looked around at the immense crowd, most with drinks in their hands, and said, "I never would have guessed."  
  
"Gladstone's 4 Fish is an icon here," Jim explained. "But I think half the fun of coming is standing around outside, like this, basically in the parking lot, while waiting for your table."  
  
Joel nodded in understanding. "Pretty glamorous, actually. So far, I've counted five other celebrities besides yourself, Jim."  
  
Jim smiled as he brought the beer bottle to his lips and took a swig. After swallowing, he said, "But please note, no one is bothering us. Oh, sure, they're looking, but no autographs, no fuss, just a few discreet glances."  
  
"And pokes. Don't forget the pokes," Blair added, grinning.  
  
"There are more than a few pokes being poked on your behalf, Chief," Jim noted with a grin. "You're a celebrity, too, you know."  
  
"Very funny—"  
  
"Mr. Ellison, your table is ready."  
The interruption came from a lovely, leggy woman with an armful of menus. She smiled her brightest smile, gave Jim's body the once-over and, with a toss of her blonde mane, headed back for the restaurant fully expecting them to follow. Which they did, drinks in hand.  
  
She wove her way through the crowd inside as effortlessly as a zephyr, through two large dining rooms and finally into a smaller room which was, technically, outside. "Outside" in the sense that while there were walls and a ceiling – the large square openings that would have held glass panes – were empty, thus opening the room to the great outdoors. She moved between tables until she stood next to a corner one with an incredible view of the beach. She turned and, with another brilliant smile, indicated their seats. Jim and Blair took one side, Simon and Joel the other, with GM the aisle seat. She handed them the menus and said, "The specials are clipped just inside and if you have any questions, your server will be happy to answer them." With that, she favored Jim with another dazzling smile, batted her lashes, flicked her hair back and walked away, her ass swaying.  
  
"Yes, well," Blair said as he brought his menu up, effectively hiding his face and thus his barely contained laughter.  
  
"Happens a great deal, I suspect," Simon said just as he hid behind *his* menu.  
  
"Undoubtedly," Joel said as he dived behind his.  
  
GM took off his hat, hung it on the back of his chair, and said, "Yup."  
  
***  
  
Simon was worried about the film and how it would affect his son and, since arriving, had been fighting the impulse to jump in and ask the questions that would at least tell him if Jim was truly prepared. Now, while everyone was buried in their menus, he decided to give in and ask – with some subtlety. He lowered his menu. "How do you two plan to handle the inevitable articles that will focus on the fact that your co-star in a gay-themed film – lives with you?"  
  
So not so subtle.  
  
Blair rolled his eyes and said somewhat apologetically, "Okay, Jim, I admit it. I really didn't think he'd get to that for at least twenty-four hours."  
  
"My estimate was a bit closer to now, Chief. And to answer your question… Blair and I haven't come to a decision on that particular issue. In fact, we haven't really discussed it yet."  
  
"You mean—"  
  
"And," Jim quickly added, "this might not be the best place to deal with it, if you get my drift?"  
  
Simon quickly glanced around them but found only happy diners eating and chatting. A few threw covert glances Jim's way, their interest clearly that of fans. But he nodded his understanding anyway. "So we'll talk back at your place," he finally said.  
  
Once that decision was made, they returned to their menus and what to order. Both Jim and Blair offered suggestions with the overwhelming consensus being *not* to order anything fried. Hence, it was the grilled snapper for Joel, orange roughy for Simon and the swordfish for Jim. Both GM and Blair ordered the crab legs. Their salads arrived along with a large basket of bread and everyone dug in.  
  
***  
  
Relaxed and happy, they ate, talked, enjoyed the wine and the view, and caught up on their lives. They talked about the differences between California and Washington weather and traffic; a subject Blair really warmed up to, and of course, surfing, which got Jim talking almost non-stop.  
  
While waiting for their after-dinner coffees and, with the sound of the ocean a much appreciated backdrop, Simon, Joel and GM listened to Blair's hilarious stories about LA life, valley-talk and life in a mall. By the time they were done, the bill paid and they were ready to leave, the mood was jovial and completely relaxed, something for which Blair was very grateful. The last thing in the world he wanted to deal with any time soon was the question Simon had brought up.  
  
As they walked to the car, his mind was racing ahead to when they'd get home and Simon would bring the whole gay issue up again. Not that he was afraid of it, he wasn't, but he was worried – for Jim. In the back of his mind, a thought flew around, one he hated, but couldn't deny might be the answer. Once filming started – maybe he should move out. Get his own place.  
  
He wasn't anxious to share his germ of an idea with Jim. Nope, not anxious at all.  
  
  
***  
  
The weather was such that when they got home, sitting out on the deck seemed the most natural thing to do. Jim made Irish coffees – with GM's help – and it was while enjoying their drinks that Simon asked again.  
  
"So, Jim. What happens when the reporters quiz you about being gay and if you and Blair are a couple?"  
  
"Simon—"  
  
"Blair, let him answer," Simon admonished.  
  
"No, Simon, he doesn't have to. It's our business," Blair said gently. "Besides, Jim told you that we haven't actually discussed it. Although, I do have a possible solution." He shot a nervous glance at Jim, who was now staring at him as if he knew damn well what Blair was about to suggest.  
  
"And what would that be, Chief?"  
  
"Uhm… I was thinking I would… you know… get my own place." There. He'd said it.  
  
"And I'm thinking… no," Jim said, his voice firm. "No, and no again."  
  
"Jim—"  
  
Joel leaned forward. "Look, maybe I'm speaking out of turn here, but I honestly don't think that's the answer, Blair. But maybe talking about it with two men who have some experience might help?"  
  
"I couldn't agree more," Jim said with a pointed look at Blair.  
  
"I think it is," Blair responded stubbornly. "And to be truthful, Joel, the consequences Jim faces if this comes out at the wrong time are far worse than anything you and Simon had to deal with, okay?"  
  
"Meaning what?" Simon asked, a current of anger threaded through both words.  
  
"I think Blair means that you didn't have a career at stake, Simon," Jim said easily.  
  
"He's got you there," Joel said. "Although my business could have suffered."  
  
Blair let one eyebrow rise in question and Joel chuckled. "All right, so it wasn’t in any danger. Still…."  
  
"Still, Jim *does* have a great deal to risk, and not just his acting career now."  
  
"Surely show business doesn't care what your sexual preference is if you're not in front of the camera?" Simon asked.  
  
"They won't once that's all he's doing. But he's not just the director of The Front Runner, he's also the star. The success of the movie is at stake as well," Blair answered.  
  
"Meaning that the public still has something invested in the image of the macho Jim Ellison?" Joel asked.  
  
"Exactly. If they find out he's gay too soon – it will color their perception of anything he does in front of the camera – even if it's playing a gay man."  
  
Simon cocked his head in interest. "You said *too soon*, so does that mean the two of you plan to come out eventually?"  
  
Jim shrugged. "I think it's inevitable, Simon. The only questions are when – and how - the information gets out."  
  
"Then I would think you'd want to control it," Simon said.  
  
Blair and Jim shared looks even as Jim said, "That's kind of the idea. The how of it. Controlling it. But we have to give the movie a chance and that means until it comes out, I'm going to do my best to stave off the hard-core rumors for as long as possible."  
  
"That doesn't seem to be the most honest way of dealing—"  
  
"Simon," Blair interrupted almost angrily, "Jim has a good many people to consider, people who depend on the movie for their paychecks. Not only that, but the crew *cares* about this movie, about getting it made. It means a great deal to everyone so getting it done has to be the primary goal."  
  
Holding up a hand as if to ward off Blair's anger, Simon said, "Okay, I get it, I get it." He glanced between the two of them and added, "Clearly you know best, Jim, and you have our support all the way."  
  
"Thank you, Simon, that means a great deal to me."  
  
"Now if you'll just show Joel and I how to become one of your investors, we'd be very grateful."  
  
A subtle cough from GM had everyone looking over at him, whereupon he shrugged and said, "I have some money tucked away and would consider it an honor if you'd allow me to invest as well."  
  
Blair's smug grin nearly took over his face. "Maybe shooting in New York isn't out of the realm of possibility after all."  
  
  
***  
  
Jim rolled over which displaced Blair, who was still dead to the world. Sitting up, he stretched, reached for his robe, slipped it on and walked into the bathroom. After relieving himself and washing his hands, he tightened his robe, walked back out and took a few precious moments to watch Blair sleep before heading into the kitchen. It was early, only six, but he wanted a few moments out on the deck, a bit of peace to think about accepting money from what was basically Blair's 'parents'. He understood all too well that the figures mentioned the night before would ensure his total creative control and New York and that was nothing to be sneezed at. It was, in fact, everything.  
  
He poured two glasses of orange juice, walked through the living room, palmed the drinks in order to open the slider, and then stepped out onto the front decking. "'Morning, GM," he said as he held out one of the glasses.  
  
GM turned from the view and grinned sheepishly. "Hope I didn't wake you." He took the juice and watched as Jim sat down on one of the deep, cushioned deck chairs.  
  
"You didn't. I'm used to rising early but if I don't have a set to get to, I'll either hit the beach or go back to bed," Jim said with a smile.  
  
"And today?"  
  
Jim glanced to his left and the bit of visible decking that belonged to his bedroom and said, "If he doesn't get up – I'll go back to bed."  
  
GM turned back to the beach and said, "Funny, all those years in Cascade and I never went to the beach. Never even been on the water."  
  
"I hope the surf didn't keep you awake then."  
  
"No, it was oddly soothing."  
  
"That's how I feel about it."  
  
They were both silent for several minutes, minutes that saw the morning slowly brighten. Finally Jim said, "You'll stay, won't you? When Simon and Joel head home? You'll stay, right?"  
  
GM turned back around, surprise evident in his expression. "I don't… why would—"  
  
"He's missed you, GM. Really missed you, and I suspect it's been the same for you, right?"  
  
He nodded and Jim added, "So stay. He'll need someone besides me, someone he can trust, who cares more about him than who or what he is – and that's you. Besides, you have a kind of sixth sense about him, which, I suspect, is why you, Simon and Joel decided to come early."  
  
"How did you—"  
  
Jim shrugged. "I have a kind of sixth sense, too." Grinning, he added, "For instance, you never planned to return to Banks Folly, did you?"  
  
GM gave him his patented "Aw, shucks" look and said, "Hoped not to. Hoped you'd need a kind of cowboy Friday."  
  
"I don't know about that, but this household can always use another friend." He gave GM a thoughtful look before adding, "You're going to have to learn to surf, though. Just so I can tell people that now you ride the waves instead of the range."  
  
***  
  
"GM, you have to wear a tux and that's all there is to it. Now shut up and help me find a place to park."  
  
It was Friday, the day before the big charity event put on by Cyclops Productions’ CEO, Clifford Westphal. The party was to raise money for a favorite charity of Hollywood, the Make A Wish Foundation, but as he and Jim had discussed earlier, it was now a stepping stone to reeling in a few more investors. All of which left Blair squiring GM around town in search of the perfect tux for the older man.  
  
"Did you just tell me to shut up?" GM asked while trying to hide his grin.  
  
"Damn right. And keep your eyes peeled for a car pulling out, all right?"  
  
GM made a small huffing sound. "Car? I see no cars. Limos, I see. Fancy schmancy vehicles, I see, but cars? No, sir, Boss. No cars."  
  
"Call 'em what you will, but if one of them pulls out – yell."  
  
Blair turned left – after a ten minute wait through five signals – onto Rodeo Drive with the intention of making a circular move back to Wilshire Boulevard in his effort to find a spot to park.  
  
"Hey, stop, that guy is pulling out," GM suddenly said as he indicated a convertible Silver Cloud just ahead and on their right.  
  
Blair slowed as he turned on the right blinker, coming to a stop behind the Rolls. The driver, a man, signaled, turned, glanced back at them, and waved. Surprised, Blair found himself waving back even though he didn't have a clue who the guy was.  
  
"You know him?" GM asked as the Rolls pulled out and away.  
  
"No, pretty sure not. But that happens a lot in this town."  
  
Blair did a quick job of parallel parking, no easy feat in a Lexus SUV on Rodeo Drive. They both got out and, after setting the locks and alarm, headed south, toward Armani's.  
  
Blair deliberately slowed their pace to give GM a chance to really look around and, judging by his expression – he was having a ball. Rodeo Drive was one of the most expensive streets in the world and, considering it was only three blocks long, that was saying something. But then, this was Beverly Hills.  
  
"You know that movie with Eddie Murphy?" GM suddenly hissed out.  
  
"Yeah, the cell phone scene. Amazing, isn't it?"  
  
"Who the hell are they all talking to and why?"  
  
Blair chuckled at that and said, "Man, I have no clue and don't want to know."  
  
They waited at a light and watched as several cars ran it in order to make it across the small intersection. Both winced as horns blared and brakes screeched. The white hand, signaling that they could cross, flashed but both men wisely waited, thus avoiding being run down by a Hummer whose driver evidently felt that no matter what the signals said, his car was bigger, he was richer, and therefore, he could do any damn thing he pleased. When they were sure it was safe, they jogged across the street and Blair led GM into Georgio Armani's store.  
  
Two hours later, having been plied with no less than three glasses of complimentary champagne, GM now had one tux and all the accessories, including shoes. While they waited, the suit was finished off, boxed and delivered by a classy lady who'd been making eyes at GM from the moment they'd stepped inside. She knew her business and recognized Blair immediately, and thus assumed GM was your basic down-home-on-the-range multi-millionaire. Blair thought it was hilarious in spite of the several times GM had slapped him with his Stetson.  
  
As they walked back outside, Blair, still chortling, asked, "So, you hungry?"  
  
"Well, that wine is kind of sitting in my stomach so, hungry or not, I'd better eat."  
  
"Let's try the café we passed. We go right by it to get to the car."  
  
GM glanced around them and frowned. Seeing his discomfort, Blair got another idea altogether. "Hey, now that I think about it, I really don't feel like spending twenty-five bucks for a hamburger. But I do know a place not too far away where we can get one of the best hot dogs in the world. There'll be a line – a long one, but they're worth it. You up for that?"  
  
"I'd give anything for a really good hot dog," GM said.  
  
"In that case, Pinks, here we come."  
  
  
***  
  
"Okay, this is my kind of place," GM said as Blair parked the car.  
  
"Told you. Pinks is one of the most famous hot dog spots in the world and for good reason. This was the first place Jim brought me when we got here." He grinned. "The second spot was Tommy's, one of the most famous chili burger joints in the world."  
  
"I knew there was a reason I liked Ellison."  
  
Laughing, they walked over to the line, which was about thirty people deep, and fell in. It took thirty minutes to get to the counter. They'd both had plenty of time to decide on their lunch, so ordering went quickly with Blair ordering the Martha Stewart dog and GM, the Ozzy Osborne. They'd already decided to share an order of chili fries and each ordered large sodas, which they carried over to a table that had just opened up. There were only a handful at Pinks, so most folks ate in their cars.  
  
As they sat down, Blair said, "Shopping is the pits, but lunch almost always makes up for it."  
  
GM raised his plastic cup and touched it to Blair's. "Here, here."  
  
"So," Blair said as he twirled his cup around. "Any chance you might…stay?"  
  
"Stay?" GM asked, knowing full well what Blair was so badly hinting at.  
  
"You know, stay here, with Jim and me. I mean, I realize how much you love it with Simon and Joel, how much the ranch needs you, but maybe…maybe I need you, too."  
  
"You have Jim," GM said softly, his heart beating double time.  
  
Blair, still not looking at GM, smiled slightly. "Yes, I do. But damn it, this life of his… and I don't exactly fit, and if that weren't enough, I'm really worried about him, about the film, us… you name it, and I've missed the hell out of you and—"  
  
"I'm staying, Boss. Simon knows, Joel knows, Ellison knows."  
  
"…I really… what?"  
  
"I'm staying."  
  
Blair stared at GM. "You are? They do?"  
  
Laughing, GM said, "I are, they do."  
  
Blair found that he could nothing but keep staring at GM in surprise and shock. Finally he said again, as if he still couldn't believe it, "You really will stay?"  
  
"You couldn't blast me from your side, Blair."  
  
A gentle and thankful smile on his face, Blair said, "Oh, all right then."  
  
***  
  
"So, you're okay with GM becoming a part of our little household, are you?"  
  
Jim turned from the long mirror and said, "Ah, you and GM had a nice talk today?"  
  
"Actually, yesterday while we were buying his tux."  
  
Blair was struggling with his vest, with the clasp in the back, so Jim walked over, turned him around, clipped the vest in place and said, "No, I don't mind a bit."  
  
Facing him, Blair moved into Jim's arms, ran his hand down Jim's back and whispered, "Thank you."  
  
"I know how much he means to you, Chief. Besides, he's a good man to have around."  
  
"He won't let himself be a guest, he'll want to *do* something—"  
  
"I know. That's why I'm thinking you make him your assistant."  
  
"What, you mean like Joe?"  
  
"Yep. You know what I paid him, so—"  
  
"So why not ask GM to be both our assistants? He can handle anything you or I need, and he'll certainly do it better than Joe – and more honestly too."  
  
Dropping a quick kiss on Blair's lips, Jim said, "You're brilliant, you know that?"  
  
"Well, now that you mention it – and of course, we'll have to pay GM more, since he'll be handling two of us--"  
  
"We'd have to pay him more just for handling you, Chief," Jim said as he planted small kisses along Blair's jaw and moving up to his ear.  
  
"We don't … and they're waiting down… stairs…."  
  
"Let 'em wait," Jim murmured.  
  
"Yeah," Blair whispered as he unzipped Jim's slacks. "Let 'em wait."  
  
  
***  
  
"Is this the kind of function where it's fashionable to walk in two hours late?" Joel asked as he downed the last of his drink.  
  
"Evidently," Simon said with a grin. "And to think, we could have taken longer to get 'dressed' ourselves."  
  
Joel walked over to where Simon was standing by the fireplace and gave him a peck on the cheek. "We did all right. Thanks to being more experienced, we managed to get dressed on time even while 'dressing'."  
  
Laughing, Simon said, "We are good, aren't we?"  
  
Before Joel could answer, a very uncomfortable looking GM entered the living room. "How do folks wear these things?"  
  
"You look good," Simon noted. "And after an hour of mind-numbing chit-chat, you won't even feel the tie strangling you. Word of advice: keep a drink in your hand at all times."  
  
"Meaning I'll need to get drunk to make it through the night?" GM asked as he ran a finger along the inside of his collar.  
  
"Something like that."  
  
"So we're going again – why?"  
  
Simon blinked at that because, for just a moment, it had been like listening to Blair. He gave himself a mental shake and said, "According to Blair, this is a combination of good PR and business. The studio will be making a huge contribution in the name of the film, Jim will be doing the same, and Jim hopes to finalize a couple more investors."  
  
"I didn't realize that was necessary," GM asked, clearly interested.  
  
Shrugging, Simon said, "According to Blair, the people Jim will be talking to tonight, well, their money is already included in the budget, so I'd say that made this evening even more important."  
  
"Sounds like they could definitely use more, then. So maybe a big deal should be made tonight with not only a contribution to this 'Make a Wish Foundation' but with a public show of our investing in the movie?" GM suggested.  
  
Joel looked over at Simon and, one eyebrow arched, noted, "He sure drops that whole dumb cowboy thing when the need arises, doesn't he?"  
  
"He 'shor' does," Simon drawled.  
  
"Sorry we're late," Blair said, interrupting any further discussion. "But we're ready now. Car's out front," he added even as he gave his tie a final adjustment.  
  
It didn't skip anyone's notice that it was his hair he should have been fixing. As they all grabbed their coats and headed out, Jim, in an effort to be subtle, pulled a tie from his pocket and snuck it into Blair's hand. By the time they were all in the limo, Blair's hair was neatly pulled back into a very handsome ponytail.

End part two


	3. Chapter 3

GM stayed close to Blair, but without being obvious. He couldn't explain why, only that he needed to be within reach. He wasn't surprised at recognizing many of the handsome and beautiful faces that drifted past him throughout the evening but they neither fazed him, nor impressed him. It was inevitable that Jim would need to mingle but GM was surprised at how easily Blair did the same. Not that he wasn't a very self-possessed young man, but this type of function had never been his favorite thing. In the racing world, at the pre-race parties, he'd find himself a corner, a friend, and sit, chatting happily, until he could make a graceful exit, at which time he'd end up down at the stables with him.  
  
Now, Blair was moving easily through the crowd, talking and selling the movie. And people were listening. GM felt a burst of pride as he watched him work the guests they knew were semi-committed to investing. In spite of the fact that he was new to the business of making movies, people just naturally gravitated to him. Several, GM was pleased to note, actually knew the book and were thrilled that it was finally coming to the screen.  
  
At one point, GM lost track of Blair and, vaguely worried, began to move through the throng in his attempt to find him. He headed outside where the food was being served and, not finding him, started back inside only to have Blair say, "Hungry?" from behind him.  
  
Turning around, GM found Blair standing on the grass, grinning like a loon and holding two plates piled high with food. He held out one of them and GM, feeling like an idiot, took it.  
  
"Sorry, Boss," he muttered.  
  
"Why sorry? And could we cut out the 'Boss' crap?"  
  
Biting back a grin, GM said, "So I should say, 'Sorry, Mr. Sandburg'?"  
  
"Very funny, GM. Very funny."  
  
Blair led him over to the pool area where they found a couple of lounge chairs and were able to sit down with their food. As Blair munched on a piece of roasted duck, he nodded at the pool and said, "By one, there will be fully clothed party-goers in there."  
  
GM glanced around them, at the elegant and rich who spoke softly, ate daintily and moved with practiced ease, and shook his head. "No way, Boss. Not this group."  
  
"No way, *Blair* and yes, this group. Care to make a wager? Put your money where your opinion is?"  
  
GM rubbed his chin thoughtfully before saying, "All right. How does a million sound? If I lose, I dump a million into the film and if I win, I dump a million into the film."  
  
Blair had just popped a stuffed mushroom into his mouth and he now began to choke, eyes watering as he tried to swallow. GM gave him a couple of good back poundings and was just about to try the Heimlich Maneuver when Blair swallowed and rasped out, "Excuse me?"  
  
"It's not like I didn't already offer back at the house." Seeing no lessening of shock on Blair's face, he quickly asked, "You're not going to turn my money down, are you?"  
  
Swallowing again, Blair croaked out, "I need a drink."  
  
"I'll be right back," GM said as he put his plate down and got hurriedly to his feet.   
  
"Sit down, GM," Blair said. "Explain."  
  
"I will, but we could both use something to wet our whistles. I'll be right back."  
  
Realizing he wasn't going to win, Blair nodded and let him go. When he came back, he had two bottles of beer in his hand. Taking one, Blair said, "How did you get—"  
  
"Bartender seemed to be a very understanding guy – from Austin, Texas."  
  
"Ah, that explains it. One Texan to another." Blair unscrewed the top and took a healthy swig before saying again, "Explain."  
  
Shrugging, GM said, "I have the money and I can't think of a better way to invest it. That's all."  
  
"Wow, we were paying you way better than I thought," Blair said with a grin.  
  
"Or I know how to bet on a good thing," GM said.  
  
"You weren't. Tell me you weren't?"  
  
"Can't do that. It was legal, above board." He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a good judge of horse flesh."  
  
"You're unbelievable, GM. I'm so proud."  
  
***  
  
"What are you thinking?" Blair asked as he came up behind Jim.   
  
Turning to face him, Jim put his arms around the shorter man and said, "That it wasn't as difficult as I thought it would be to have a boyfriend with such rich relatives and   
friends. "  
  
Grinning, Blair said, as he wrapped his arms around Jim's waist, "It was kind of cool tonight, wasn't it? When Simon did the whole contribution thing and then the speech about movie and finally the way he presented his investment. It was just—"  
  
"Unreal. And netted us two additional investors."  
  
"And your macho pride isn't all wounded or anything?"  
  
Jim patted Blair's ass and said, "Macho pride intact."  
  
"So with the additional money, we've got it all, right? New York and total creative control?"   
  
"More than that – we can get Madison Square Garden now. I'm not going to worry about Europe because you were right about that anyway, so I'm happy. It's still going to be tough, the studio's set a tight shooting schedule, but I think it's doable." He nuzzled behind Blair's ear as he added, "Our movie, the way we want it done, all the way, Chief. This is real – it's going to happen."  
  
Blair had never had any doubts.  
  
Well, hardly any.  
  
***  
  
 _Six Months Later_  
  
"Cut!"   
  
Grinning, Jim walked up to Blair, handed him a towel, and said, "Good job."  
  
"Yeah, I was acting up a storm," Blair said sarcastically while wiping his face.   
  
They'd just finished shooting the scene where Harlan Brown first watches Billy Sive run. Jim had, after doing the location scouting himself, found the perfect spot in upstate New York to represent Prescott College. In the book, the college had once been a home and that was precisely what they were using now. Only in this case, the home had been converted into a Catholic school that had closed down six months prior to Jim finding it. Eventually it would be torn down to make way for a new mall. But for now, it was Prescott, the place where Harlan, the track coach, first meets Billy.   
  
It was a warm day and, because Jim had wanted one long, uncut scene, it had taken twelve takes thanks to various interruptions. A low flying plane had ruined one shot, and a deer, of all things, ruined yet another. Now Blair was hot and tired, his legs aching. He could hardly wait for the rest of the running scenes. Not.   
  
Jim turned to his assistant and said, "Let's break for lunch but I want everyone back by one and set up for scene twenty-three."  
  
Millie Dupree nodded and, speaking into her headset, relayed the information.   
  
"GM has your lunch set up in the trailer so go eat and rest up, all right?"  
  
"Like I need to be told to do that?" Blair said, a touch of edginess in his voice.   
  
Frowning, Jim reached out and squeezed his arm lightly. "I'll join you later. Have a few things to attend to first."  
  
Blair simply nodded and headed for his trailer, completely unaware of the worried gaze following him.  
  
"Jim, Mac is waiting," Millie reminded.  
  
"I know, thanks." He watched Blair enter his trailer and, with a sigh, headed for his meeting with his second unit crew.  
  
***   
  
Blair stepped into the coolness of his home-away-from-home and immediately shivered as the air hit his heated skin. GM seeing the exhaustion, said from the bedroom doorway, "Come on, shower time for you. Lunch can wait."   
  
Blair didn't respond but did allow himself to be led into the bathroom. GM got the water going while Blair stripped, proof positive that all was not well, since Blair usually required privacy. He knew something had been bothering Blair for several days but had yet to discover the source. Now he simply contented himself with taking care of him the only way he knew how. As Blair stepped into the stall and shut the door, GM took the clothing and put them in the costume bag, which would be picked up later. He then went back out to the living room and then the kitchenette. He figured he had fifteen minutes to get lunch set up.  
  
By the time Blair came out wearing a robe and fingering his hair, which he'd semi-dried in the bathroom, the small table was set and Blair's lobster salad was waiting for him.  
  
"Looks good, GM. Thanks."  
  
"Seemed the right thing for today."  
  
Blair sat down and sighed with the relief of being off his feet. When GM started toward the other end of the trailer, he asked, "Aren't you going to join me?"  
  
"I thought I'd tidy up a bit…."  
  
"GM, I can clean up after myself. Now sit down and eat."  
  
GM gave an impatient shake of his head, got an extra plate and another iced tea from the kitchenette and sat opposite Blair, who then divided the salad and pushed the plate toward him.  
  
"I'm only doing this because something's bothering you and I'm hoping you're ready to spill," GM said.  
  
Blair had a forkful of salad on its way to his mouth but, at GM's words, his hand froze mid-air. After a moment, he slowly lowered the fork back to the plate. "Do we have anything stronger than iced tea?"  
  
Without a word, GM got up, retrieved a couple bottles of beer from the small fridge, and rejoined Blair. He handed him one, sat down and waited.  
  
Blair opened the bottle, took a couple of swigs, and finally said, "Emails."  
  
"I'm a cowboy, Blair, I break horses, not codes."  
  
"I've been getting – weird emails. Okay, hate mail over the movie." He shrugged. "They're starting to bug me because I can't trace them."  
  
"Trace them?"  
  
Blair gave him a wry grin. "I'm a pretty good hacker, but whoever this creep is, he's better. They're bouncing all over the place, which really bugs me." The puzzled look on GM's face brought forth an explanation. "See, it's not just some plain old nut job – this is a smart nut job. They're taking great pains not to be traced. Not to mention the fact that they've managed to get my private email, and you know damn well how few people have that."  
  
"You haven't told Jim, have you?"  
  
Blair glanced away, feeling almost ashamed. "No. I didn't want to…you know…worry him. After all, it's not like this is entirely unexpected. Besides, he's got enough on his plate. A ton of stuff going wrong, all annoying and time consuming and he just – by some miracle, got back on schedule and I sure as hell don't want to do anything that would slow us down again. He has to bring this flick in on time or the penalties will kill him."  
  
"I don't pretend to understand the movie business, but what kind of penalties are we talking about?"  
  
"Okay, now don't misunderstand me, because the additional investments really helped, but in order to get everything he wanted, as in *everything* – he not only put up his own money, but gave up his salary as well. He went with a percentage instead, and sure, he'll make a bundle if the film does well, but there's a monetary penalty clause that assesses a fine for every day over the planned wrap date. The amount is hefty enough that Jim could have a hit and realize no monetary gain whatsoever."  
  
"Well, shit."  
  
"That sums it up nicely."  
  
GM got up and started to pace. "You need to tell him, Boss. He needs to know and he'll kill you if keep this from him."  
  
"I know you're right – I know it, but the idea of—"  
  
Blair didn't have a chance to finish as the door to the trailer opened and Jim, face set in stone, stepped inside.  
  
"The idea of what, Chief?"  
  
***  
  
Blair handed Jim the sheaf of papers – all the emails, printed out. "I'm sorry, man. I should have told you sooner. I thought I was doing the right thing."  
  
Jim took them and, without a word, started reading. As he went through them, his face paled. "Christ, Chief," he finally said. "These are… disgusting and you're damn right you should have told me. These need to be given to the police."  
  
"Jim, they're hate mail and that's it. You don't take this kind of stuff to the cops."  
  
"In this business, yes, you do, Chief."  
  
Remembering that Jim had once been subjected to a stalker, Blair felt even worse. If anyone knew how tricky these things could be, it was Jim. Damn, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this bad, or let anyone down the way he now realized he'd done with Jim over the emails. He watched as Jim got to his feet and walked over to the phone.   
  
"I know someone with the NYPD, an old buddy named Tony Vanelli. I'm going to give him a call. GM, would you take my cell and alert Bob? I think we need to double security for awhile." He tossed the phone to GM, who caught it and, nodding, immediately started dialing.  
  
***  
  
Blair was surrounded by sound and movement – and yet managed to ignore all of it. Jim and GM were discussing security measures with Jim's friend, Lieutenant Vanelli, a tall, quiet, good-looking man whose brown eyes missed little, if Blair were any kind of judge. With them was Bob Nelson, the head of Kevlar Security, the firm hired by Cyclops for the duration of filming, and, a few feet away, two of Cyclops money men, both on their respective cell phones trying to work with publicity to keep a lid on what could easily become the next major story and offer up the kind of publicity they didn't want. Blair had learned early that the old saying about all publicity being good publicity was wrong – dead wrong.   
  
Now as he watched them all, he felt an overwhelming need for some privacy. Hoping that Jim wouldn't miss him for awhile, he got up and walked into the small bedroom. Since there was nothing else comfortable to sit on, he closed the door softly behind him before dropping down onto the bed. Clasping his hands behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling.  
  
He wasn't sure what the emails were really about but he honestly didn't think they were worth all this fuss. Yes, there was no doubt he should have told Jim, but hadn't they been expecting this kind of shit? And okay, the private email was an added wrinkle, but again, being a computer geek of sorts, he knew getting someone's email wasn't all that hard. And he was probably rationalizing. Which was stupid. Especially since there was a niggling feeling that maybe they were looking at someone he knew, someone upset at the subject matter of the movie, and that really bothered him.   
  
Blair was so deep in thought, he didn't hear the door open and, until Jim sat down next to him, didn't realize he was no longer alone.  
  
"Hey."  
  
Blair turned his head to look at his partner, who was, oddly enough, smiling. "Hey, back."  
  
"I've been acting a little… well, you scared me, Blair, that's all. I read those emails and, even though we've been gearing up for just this kind of thing, they still made my skin crawl. You know I tend to go into super control freak mode when faced with something I can't control."  
  
"Hey, I'm the one who didn't share."  
  
Jim reached out with a finger and twirled one of the shorter curls framing Blair's face around it. "Funny how when faced with the reality of hate mail – it kind of took both our breaths away."  
  
"Yeah. That and the fact that the guy is working hard to make it almost impossible to track him."  
  
Jim cocked his head. "So what - you think we're looking at something a bit more personal?"  
  
"Not necessarily, no. It could still be about the movie, just not the way we thought. "  
  
"Explain?"  
  
"Well, we kind of figured the rumors would start about us and thus the hate mail, but you and I as a couple weren't even mentioned in the emails. So what if we're looking at the religious right? What about someone who really abhors homosexuality and would find the filming of the book to be blasphemy?"  
  
"So why target you? And how did they get your email address?"  
  
Blair shrugged. "I've been thinking about that and… maybe… well, it could be someone in my racing circle that fits that kind of profile."  
  
Jim nodded thoughtfully. "Okay, that's certainly possible. Would make it easier for the police, too. I'll give the information to Tony and we'll see what happens when he starts shaking a few trees." He leaned over and gave Blair a quick kiss. "And of course, if you get any more, you'll turn them over right away, right?"  
  
"Absolutely," Blair agreed as he licked his lips and scrunched up his face.  
  
Laughing, Jim said, "You look about five years old, Chief."  
  
"Man, you sure know how to hurt a macho dude like myself. Wounded pride here, man."  
  
Laughing, Jim patted his leg and said, "Come on, let's get back to work."  
  
"I thought you called it for the day?"  
  
"I did. I mean work on the emails. Simon and Joel will be here shortly and if we all put our heads together, we'll have… five heads."  
  
Blair groaned at the lame joke but got up. Arms around each other's waists, they headed out and into the living room.  
  
***  
  
 _Eight weeks later_   
  
"What about Le Veau d' Or?" Ben Elder asked as he and Blair walked out of Bloomingdale's.  
  
"That sounds good, and it's within what New Yorkers consider walking distance," Blair answered as he avoided bumping into people hurrying along the sidewalk.  
  
"Which means if we were back home, we'd drive," Ben added with a chuckle.   
  
Laughing, Blair said, "You know it. Destroyers of the Environment, that's us. And which way? Right or left?"  
  
"Man, you really don't have a sense of direction, do you?"  
  
"Jim's been talking again, hasn't he?"  
  
"I don't know *what* you mean."  
  
"Like hell you don't," Blair said good-naturedly. "So, do we go left or right?"  
  
Ben looked around and said, "I think it's what… one, two blocks that way? Sixtieth?"  
  
"Yeah, that sounds right. So we cross the street?"  
  
"We do."  
  
Enjoying the sun as well as the exciting pulse of the city, they moved lazily toward the crosswalk. The last several weeks had seen the filming of the movie moving briskly ahead with only a few glitches and *no* more emails. It still seemed as though they were suffering more than their share of weird shit, but overall, production was on schedule, thanks to Jim.   
  
Now, with a rare day off, thanks to the fact that the final scenes being shot in upstate New York didn't involve either of them, both men had decided to do some shopping and enjoy their day in the city. Ben was expecting his girlfriend, actress Jennifer Holley, to fly in later that day, but for now, food was the only thing on their minds.  
  
Their light was red so they waited, chatting easily about the shoot and this unexpected day off. The traffic on the street was heavy and, at the moment, stopped, thanks to a stalled car on Lexington. Horns blared as only New Yorkers could use them, but eventually the car squeezed by and traffic started to move again. The light changed, the hand blinked white and Blair, mid-sentence, stepped into the street first, Ben a couple of moments behind him. The sound of an engine, louder than the rest, captured Blair's attention and he glanced to his left just in time to see a sleek black car bearing down on him.   
  
For a moment, he was paralyzed, but quickly recovered. He literally spun around and into Ben, both of them falling backward as the car zipped by, its speed so fast, Blair could feel the disturbed air. The sound of more blowing horns and yelling told Blair, who was now on the ground and chest to chest with Ben, that the black car was still causing trouble. Before he could get to his feet, people moved off the sidewalk, surrounded them, and begin to shoot questions like, "Are you guys all right?" and "Did you see it? That guy was crazy."  
  
Hands helped both men to their feet and, as their fellow pedestrians got a look at the two of them, the questions changed and, "Aren't you?" became the crowd's new mantra. Ben, certainly more experienced at dealing with recognition, smiled warmly, thanked everyone, grabbed Blair's arm and began to haul him back toward Bloomingdale's. Once inside again, they both breathed out a sigh of relief.  
  
"You really okay, Ben? I fell on you pretty hard."  
  
"I'm fine. You?"  
  
Grinning and brushing himself off, Blair nodded. "Never better, considering we were both nearly run down."  
  
"Look, I think we should grab a bite to eat here and forget about negotiating the city. What do you think?"  
  
Blair nodded in agreement. "Sounds just fine to me. You know, I thought traffic in California was bad – but New York makes it seem like a walk in the park."   
  
Ben grinned at that and said, "Not if that walk is in Central Park. After dark."  
  
Laughing, Blair said, "Good point." He gazed curiously around him before adding, "So where do we eat?"  
  
"There's a good restaurant right here in Bloomie's called 59th and Lex. They have great salads and sandwiches and we can relax before heading back to the hotel."  
  
"Excuse me? Mr. Elder?"  
  
Ben and Blair turned at the voice and found themselves looking into the brown eyes of a man about sixty years of age. His expression was one of concern rather than that of any kind of rabid fan so Ben responded with a friendly smile as he said, "Yes?"  
  
"I think…I witnessed the…you know, what almost happened out there? I think the police should be called."  
  
Frowning, Ben glanced over at Blair, who gave him a puzzled shrug. Looking back at the man, Ben said, "Well, no contact was made and really—"  
  
"I believe it was… I think it was deliberate," the man interrupted, his voice somber.  
  
  
***  
  
"…so there I am, waiting for my wife to pick me up. I'm a curious man and I enjoy people watching, so I watched. The black Lumina caught my attention because of the driver – the way he was just sitting there, so I bet myself that he was waiting for his wife to finish up in Bloomies. Except…he looked edgy."  
  
Blair, Ben and Howard Fleming, the man who'd followed them back into Bloomingdale's, were seated at a corner table in the restaurant, all with cups of coffee in front of them. Blair had suggested Howard join them at 59th & Lexington the moment the man had mentioned calling the police. Now, as they listened to his story, Blair felt a knot of worry beginning to take shape in his stomach.  
  
"Then I noticed he sat up, almost excited, so I glanced back at the entrance, expecting to see a woman coming out – but it was you two. I figured he'd drop back, look disappointed, but no, he started the car instead. So then I decided he'd come with you, was your driver, maybe, but then you headed for the crosswalk and that really puzzled me. Then the horns started and claimed my attention. After that, everything seemed to happen so fast. You," he indicated Blair, "stepped down off the curb and that's when he pulled into traffic. I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye. I was surprised and I remember thinking, in that split-second kind of way, that you two didn't know someone had come to pick you up and he was planning on flagging you both down. Only… he didn't honk or anything – instead – he gunned the engine. I know I shouted, but there was too much noise and I felt so damn helpless and the damn car was bearing down on you and I knew, *knew* it was deliberate. When he swerved inward, right toward you, I wanted to shut my eyes, but I couldn't. When the car zoomed by and away, I fully expected to see – well , you know."  
  
Ben nodded even as he said to Blair, "Maybe you'd better call Jim?"  
  
"Yeah, I know." Even as he spoke, Blair was pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. Before he dialed, he held out his hand to Fleming. "I just want to thank you for sharing what you witnessed, Mr. Fleming. All too many wouldn't. I don't want to hold you up any longer, but if you have a card with your information on it, we can give it to the police."  
  
Fleming dug into his jacket pocket, took out a small, flat silver box, opened it and retrieved a business card, which he handed to Blair. "My work and home number are both there and I'll be more than happy to talk with them."  
  
Blair nodded and, with a deep breath, dialed Jim.  
  
***   
  
Blair dropped down on the bed and sighed heavily. The police were finally gone, having taken down all the information about what Blair was now calling the "incident". They had Fleming's card and were on their way to interview him. Jim had spoken personally to his friend on the force and, as a result, was now in deep discussion with his security people, a couple of studio reps and PR guys. Just like last time. GM was with Jim, so Blair found himself once again seeking the privacy of a bedroom. He quickly assumed what was becoming his classic pose; clasped his hands behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.  
  
Jim was mad and feeling guilty and there was nothing Blair could do to help him. Of course, everyone was mad; hell, *he* was mad. After all, he and Ben had nearly been killed. Of course, the big question was whether Fleming was right, and second, was what happened today tied into the emails? But how the hell do you go from a nut job sending hate mail to someone who tries to run you down?   
  
Damn.  
  
He looked around the hotel room, which was really an apartment that belonged to a racing buddy of his, and nodded in satisfaction. It sure beat the trailer. Thanks to the soft cream colors and blonde furnishings, it was extremely relaxing, and who could find fault with the St. Regis? What wasn't there to like? Wasn't hurting the budget, either, since his friend was currently racing in Europe and thus more than happy to let them use it during the shoot.   
  
Blair thought about Jim, out in the living room, worried but dealing, and decided that maybe taking refuge in the bedroom wasn't the best thing to do in order to help. He got up, smoothed the bedspread and walked out into the long hall. He could hear voices, Jim and the others, and as suddenly as his need to join Jim had arrived – it left. He quickly returned to the room. Hating to mess up the bed again, for reasons he preferred not to think about, he walked over to the deep, comfortable chair by the window and sat down. The cord for the drapes was close enough, so he pulled it until the city was unveiled.   
  
What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? Why was he so – what was the phrase he was looking for? Damn, he couldn't even think straight. He thought about the man he'd become since filming started… no, wrong… he'd felt like this since making the move from Cascade to Los Angeles.   
  
Maybe now was a good time to try and pin down his feelings since leaving Washington. Hell, why not? Okay… he often felt like a total fool; different and like a fish out of water in Jim's world. Which was kind of surprising, given his own fame. But come on, the guy's life was all glitz and glamour as opposed to rigorous work-outs, training and racing. And while Blair had been constantly surrounded by horses and horse manure, Jim was surrounded by incredibly handsome and beautiful celebrities. Was it any wonder this particular fish was suddenly floundering in a much larger pond?  
  
Hey, was this how other "spouses" of famous celebrities felt?   
  
Neutered?   
  
Damn, was that it? He felt… neutered?  
  
Not that he hadn't tried to fit in, because he had. He'd tried damn hard. And when they were alone, life with Jim was incredible. But they were rarely alone.   
  
Sure, GM's arrival had helped, more than he could express, but….  
  
Wasn't there always a "but"?  
  
The movie was a huge "but". Gargantuan. He never felt up to it, good enough for Jim's movie. Suddenly he snapped his fingers.   
  
He had it.  
  
He felt almost exactly the way he'd felt all those years ago with Alex and her father.  
  
The same feeling of being not in control, of being less than….  
  
Except… Jim never made him feel that way. Never. And he actually enjoyed filmmaking. Loved watching Jim work. So why the damn insecurities? Because he wasn't an actor and no matter how many times Jim tried to assure him that he was doing a good job, he still couldn't believe it?   
  
Because a small part of him believed those words spoken by Alex Barnes all those years ago?  
  
Thank God for Jim's abilities behind the camera, he suddenly thought. With Jim's instincts - and judicious editing - he knew Jim would make Blair's acting – or lack thereof - work. Besides, it was Jim's character, Harlan Brown, that the film really revolved around.   
  
He heard the door to the bedroom open, knew it was Jim, but remained where he was, eyes focused on the view.   
  
"You okay, Chief?"  
  
"I'm fine, I've told you a hundred times. Ben's the one who hit the concrete."  
  
"Hey, sue me for worrying."  
  
Hearing an undercurrent of true fear in his voice, Blair looked up at him. Studying his face and seeing only concern, he said, "Sorry, man."  
  
"Hey, I'm worried about you -- for you." He placed his hand on Blair's shoulder. "I'm scared out of my skull, Chief."  
  
"Funny because I'm not. Maybe I'm just not connecting the dots or something."  
  
"Maybe I can help you get scared. Whoever's behind all of this knew you and Ben were going shopping and they acted fast. Do you get what that means?"   
  
"Now wait a minute, Jim. It could have been luck. I mean, if we're talking about a nut, a fanatic, than we're talking stalker-type behavior, right?"  
  
"I don't know but does it matter? Someone out there tried to kill you or Ben or both and that's enough for me. They got way too close and I think we need to shut down."  
  
Blair searched Jim's face, saw just how serious he was, and finally said, "But you won't."  
  
Clearly surprised, Jim glanced back down at his partner. "I won't?"  
  
"No, you won't. For one thing, I won't let you. This is too important a film and there's no way either of us can allow anyone to have that kind of power. Besides, you're special, you're our ace in the hole, man."  
  
Jim's lips twitched upward. "Oh, I am, am I?"  
  
"You am," Blair said, smiling.  
  
"So… we stick together?"  
  
"We do."  
  
Jim squeezed Blair's shoulder. "And maybe you'll tell me what's wrong?"  
  
"There's nothing—"  
  
"I'm this sentinel thing, remember? Besides, since when am I the only one who has to spill their guts in this relationship? You think I don't know there's been something bothering you for a while. I just thought since we're being so open right now, you might want to tell me."  
  
Blair pulled away and got to his feet. "It's not anything anyone can do anything about, man. It's just me. Adjusting, maybe."  
  
"To acting?"  
  
Blair shrugged.  
  
"Chief, you're an absolute natural. No one can believe you haven't been acting for years. Trust me on this."  
  
"Yeah? Cool," he said, not really meaning it. But seeing Jim's expression, the worry that still lingered, he added a bit more truthfully, "I'm glad you think so because I know how important this film is to you."  
  
Jim frowned at that and said, "Whoa, wait a minute. The movie was simply the best chance for us. My chance to move behind the camera so that we can lead the life we want."  
  
"Yeah, well now your entire fortune rests on it, not to mention your future, so I damn well better be able to act."  
  
"Lucky for all of us – you can."  
  
They smiled at each other, genuine smiles, as Jim added, "Look, the cops are doing their thing and so is security. For now, there's nothing more we can do, so how about some food? GM found some take-out menus in the kitchen, your buddy's no doubt. So how 'bout it? Hungry?"  
  
"I ate—"  
  
"Believe it or not, that was hours ago now, Chief. And if what I'm hearing coming from your stomach is any indication – you're hungry."  
  
"Sentinels are such a pain," Blair said. "Right, but a pain." He cocked his head. "What about Ben?"  
  
"He's covered. Bodyguards for all of us now. But he wanted to get back to his place and Jennifer."  
  
"Jen? Oh, shit, I forgot about her arriving. When did she—"  
  
"A couple of hours ago. She went straight to his place and called him on the cell while you were being interviewed."  
  
"Ah. Well, then, since he's taken care of, I guess giving into my stomach wouldn't be such a bad idea."  
  
"Good." He took Blair's elbow. "Let's go eat."  
  
***  
  
 _Eight days later_  
  
Security had been increased and, as planned, bodyguards now dogged the footsteps of all the primary players. Which of course meant that Blair actually had two (and sometimes four when Simon and Joel showed up). GM rarely let Blair out of his sight now, and neither Lyman nor Eddie, the two guys who traded twelve hour shifts, seemed to take offense at the fact that they weren't the only bodyguards, so how could Blair complain? Okay, sure, it was embarrassing, especially since life had been unusually quiet, but hey, it made everyone happy, and weren't they all suffering from the same lack of privacy? Yep.  
Not to mention how well things were going with the shoot. They were here, in the city, finally shooting at Madison Square Garden, so Blair couldn't really gripe. Jim was starting to relax and definitely back on schedule. In fact, he was almost four days ahead – which made it all worthwhile.   
  
  
Now, standing in the middle of the Garden, in costume, namely running garb, the whole incident in front of Bloomingdale's - not to mention the email thing - seemed totally unreal.   
  
They were shooting one of the pivotal track meets leading up to the Olympics, the Millrose Games, which took place at the Garden. At the moment, the stands were full of extras (a mixture of pros and residents of the city that had been recruited via the film's public relations people), eager to "act" up a storm. Ben stood between Jim and Blair, all three watching the playback of the scene they'd just shot. Blair could see there'd have to be a retake thanks to two minor players who'd been off their mark. Sure enough, Jim gave the signal and everything was quickly reset. The other actors got into position as Jim's assistant began the process of getting the extras back into the mode of acting.  
  
Blair took his place with Ben even as they were both quickly re-donning the sweats they'd soon be removing. This particular scene was remarkably simple, or one would have thought, and yet, they'd spent the last four hours trying to get it down. The whole thing would last two minutes on screen, two minutes showcasing Billy and Vince as they prepped for their race and showed off their flashy running outfits while the audience went wild; half of them approving and cheering the 'gay' runners, the other half booing them.  
  
Oddly enough, they'd completed filming the actual race, including the 'fight' between Ben Elder's character and another runner, with Jim showing what an incredible director he was in the staging of the race. His imagination and vision, coupled with his surprising technical expertise had produced, in Blair's mind, one of the finest racing moments in film history – even better than Chariots of Fire.  
  
Jim's ADA, Rob Cummings, gave the oft heard command, "Quiet on the set!" and a moment later, the buzz sounded, signifying a roll.  
  
Blair and Ben went through the motions of stripping out of their sweats and walking toward the track with the crowd of extras doing their job of cheering or jeering. The dolly, or rolling car holding the camera, cameraman and Jim, moved silently along the specially built track in order to follow the two actors. Ben moved ahead of Blair, going into his "showing off" mode and, as Blair walked easily forward, Jim suddenly yelled, **"Sandburg, down!"**  
  
Blair acted instinctively: he went down. He felt something whoosh by overhead even as something else whipped across his back. There was a crashing sound followed by sparks, causing Blair to quickly cover his head from the shower that rained down on him.   
  
***  
  
Jim heard it first - a kind of crackling sound, one that was completely out of place - and if anyone should know, it would be him. An uneasy feeling began to creep up his spine as he began to filter out the noise of the Garden in order to focus on the odd sound….  
  
…and there… he had it! Jim glanced up at the poles holding the special klieg lights for the cameras, zeroed in with his vision, spotted the weakness in one of the support cables, and realized instantly what it meant.   
  
He did the only thing he could: he yelled.  
  
***  
  
Blessed and amazing silence. Blair slowly lifted his head to see the typical frozen looks of the crew, actors and extras as they stared down at the destruction. Eyes wide, mouths open, they couldn't move, so shocked were they. Glancing over his left shoulder, he almost grinned because Jim was most definitely *not* too stunned to move. He was already running toward him.   
  
"Blair?!"  
  
Looking to his right, he spotted GM and his bodyguard running across the track toward him and thought he'd better get to his feet before everyone panicked.  
  
Except that was easier said than done. When he tried to push himself up, he was struck by a sharp pain in his back.  
  
"Stay still, Chief, stay still. First Aid is on its way. Just… stay still…."  
  
Closing his eyes, he allowed Jim to push him gently back down. He immediately felt Jim's hands as they moved swiftly and competently over him, checking for injuries that only he'd be sensitive to.   
  
"The wire caught you, Chief. Across the back. It doesn't look too bad but it did cut the skin. You've got a few minor burns from the sparks too, but I think you're okay."  
  
"Er, what wire, man?"  
  
"One of the cables supporting the light strings seems to have snapped. You're lucky because if you hadn't dropped when I yelled, you'd have a nice hole in your head right now, courtesy of one of the mini-kliegs."  
  
"Ah, that was the whooshing sound I heard."  
  
"Yep."  
  
Before Blair could say anything else, not that he'd planned to – although a nice groan would have been appropriate – a big red box was set down almost in front of his nose. This was followed by three men – two paramedics and the on-set doctor -- kept on standby during the shooting.  
  
He listened to their mumblings – okay, they weren't really mumbling, but he was already tuning out so it sounded that way to him – and worried that this might put shooting back. God, he hoped not.  
  
What seemed like an eternity later, Jim had his hand on Blair's shoulder and was asking, "Chief, you with me here?"  
  
"Uh-huh."  
  
"Want to get up on your own?"  
  
"That would be nice."  
  
The next thing he knew, he was on his feet, braced by Jim on one side and GM, the other. The paramedics were closing up shop even as the doctor was handing Jim a pill packet and urging him to get "Mr. Sandburg to his own physician as soon as possible", yadda-yadda. Then people were hurriedly clearing a path and Jim and GM were walking him toward his trailer, but not before he got a look at the damage. One of the wires that had been strung from pole to pole in order to hang more lights had snapped, sending miniature kliegs flying in several directions. Seeing the pockets of wreckage, he asked, "Was anyone else hurt?"  
  
"Nope, just you, Mr. Lucky," Jim said with a wry grin.  
  
"I'm okay, you know. A little rest and I'm right back out there and we can finish the scene, okay?"  
  
"Right, absolutely. A little rest and you're right back in front of the cameras," Jim agreed, not meaning it in the least.  
  
***  
  
It took some time, but Jim and GM managed to get Blair to the trailer, the bodyguard right behind them along with several members of the crew and Ben Elder. Leaving GM to actually get Blair up the steps and inside, Jim turned to face his people.   
  
"He's going to be fine. I'm turning things over to Rob but rest assured that we'll be checking the entire set before we shoot another scene. For now, everyone's on break. Rob will call you back when he and the crew are done. Thanks everyone."  
  
There was a smattering of applause and Jim, after acknowledging them with a wave, walked into the trailer and shut the door. GM had already maneuvered Blair into the small bedroom and was shaking out two pills from the packet when Jim walked in. GM handed the pills to Blair, who took them and washed them down with some water as Jim walked over to the bed and sat next to him. "Why don't you get some rest, okay?"  
  
"I'm fine, Jim. Just fine."  
  
"Yeah? Where are you?"  
  
"That's a silly question. New York."  
  
"Where are you right now?"  
  
Blair scrunched up his face in thought and finally said, "Over the rainbow?"  
  
Jim gently pushed a bit of hair back around Blair's ear, his hand lingering. "Very funny. Not."  
  
"Jim, I'm fine. I'll be sore, we both know that, and my body needs to catch up with itself – shock of it all, you know, but really, a nap and I'll be good to go."  
  
"Okay, okay, so sleep already, but let me help get you undressed and on your side, all right?"  
  
"Sure, knock yourself out."  
  
Grinning, Jim helped him strip down to his boxers and got him, with some difficulty, down on his right side. He pulled the comforter up, careful of Blair's injury, and then bent low enough to kiss him on the temple. The pills were already working and Blair simply gave him a sleepy smile even as his eyes closed.  
  
Jim straightened and, with one last look, joined GM in the living room where, instead of sitting down, he made a beeline for the bar. He had every intention of indulging in alcohol, as in the hard stuff, something he rarely did now, thanks to his senses. But damn it, he could still hear the sound of that cable snapping.   
  
Knowing full well that the whiskey he was about to ingest could send his senses reeling, he poured anyway. At the moment, he couldn't have cared less.   
  
"Care to pass the bottle, Boss?"  
  
Without turning around, Jim put a glass upside down over the top of the bottle and handed it to GM, who took it, poured himself a shot, downed it, and poured another one before handing the bottle back. After finishing that one, he wiped his mouth and said, "We didn't do such a great job of keeping him safe, did we?"  
  
Jim walked over to the couch and sat down. "Nope."  
  
"But maybe it was just an accident," GM said, his tone telegraphing his disbelief in his own words.  
  
"Right. Sure. An accident."  
  
"If not," GM mused, "that means who ever's responsible - they're on the set."  
  
"Not necessarily. This is a public forum and, while our security is good, I suspect it wouldn't be too difficult to get inside."  
  
"You're right, of course, you're right." He sat down next to Jim. "So what do we do now?"  
  
"We do better, that's what. And we trust the NYPD to investigate and find the asshole who did this."  
  
"Sounds like a plan."  
  
End part 3


	4. Chapter 4

"So not an accident," Jim said unnecessarily.

"No, sir, but we'll have the lab confirm."

Of course they would, but the NYPD lab wouldn't come up with anything different than Jim could see with his own eyes. The connecting wire for the string of kliegs had most definitely been tampered with, to the degree that it had snapped, thus causing the injury to Blair. However, seeing the wire for himself led to only one conclusion: Blair couldn't have been the intended victim. The timing of the break didn't allow for a specific target because there was no way to predict, with any degree of accuracy, exactly *when* the damn thing would have snapped, only that it would have happened eventually and probably during filming.

Handing the baggie with the wire in it back to the detective, he said, "Thank you for showing me, Detective Williams. I appreciate it."

Nodding, Williams took it and said, "We're adding around the clock protection for the set, Sir. Every entrance will be covered for as long as you're shooting at the Garden. You'll need to ensure at your end that the crew actually use the ID badges they've been issued and you'll need to inform them that anyone attempting to enter alone will be held back until their identity can be confirmed."

"I'll make sure the word gets out. Please, thank your boss for me. I appreciate this."

Williams gave him a slight nod before turning and walking out of the trailer. As the door shut behind him, GM ran his fingers through his short, curly, gray hair and said, "So the person behind what happened – isn't out to get Blair."

"Doesn't look like it, no."

"What about the emails?"

"Could be the same guy – maybe they were tactic number one to terrorize the film," Jim answered.

"I almost hope so because I'd hate to think there were two sickos out there."

"Same here."

"So, what did Simon have to say when you told him?"

"They'll be here in the morning," Jim said with a smile.

"Good. That's two more to keep an eye out on… things."

Jim grinned. "Yeah – 'things'. And this particular 'thing' is what, five foot seven? And it takes how many of us to keep tabs on him?"

GM chuckled and said, "From the time he was in Pampers, it took several people to keep him in sight and safe. Running, crawling, inspecting, exploring, touching, asking, diaper falling down around his chubby knees…."

Jim cocked his head and regarded GM for several seconds before his eyes widened with a sudden understanding, thanks to senses beyond the norm. "My God," he said almost breathlessly. "You're…you're his--"

"Father?"

"Holy shit."

"Well, that's one response, I guess," GM said.

"Simon and Joel – they obviously don't—"

"No, they don't."

"Care to tell me about it?"

GM rubbed the palms of his hands on his jeans and asked, "Do you really want to know something this personal about Blair that he doesn't know?"

"That barn door is open and the horse is out, GM. Besides, you plan on telling him, right?"

"No. He's happy with what he knows about his life—"

"I beg to differ. Yes, he loves Simon and Joel, but if you think he doesn't want to know who his father is, you're very wrong. We've talked about it, compared our lives, and one thing always stood out, namely his need to know. There's more than enough room in his life - and heart - for you, GM. Hell, he already loves you, and probably on a level he isn't even aware of."

GM rolled the now empty glass between his fingers, eyes downcast as he thought about what Jim was saying. Finally, almost as if talking more to himself than Jim, he said softly, "I met her at a rodeo. I'd just been thrown from a bull and she was the first thing I saw as I hauled myself up on the fence to avoid being gored. The sun hit her hair and set it ablaze and I thought for sure I'd been killed and gone to heaven, that she was this fiery angel." He paused, took a swig of his beer and then went on. "We had the season. She followed me to every new rodeo, lived with me in that silly, stuffy little trailer, learned the ropes, learned how to pound my muscles back into shape after a day of riding the bulls, and learned how to pour me into bed after a night of partying. And then she told me she was going to have a baby. I can still see her eyes, shining so bright as she took my hand and placed it on her stomach."

GM jumped to his feet and moved to the window. He opened the blinds, his fingers playing nervously with the string. "That night, while she was asleep, I left. Just like that - I up and left her. Headed to Canada and their rodeo circuit. I ran away. Left the only woman I'd ever loved, left her high and dry and pregnant."

When GM didn't say anything else, Jim asked softly, "How did you end up working for Simon?"

"An old rodeo buddy said he'd seen Naomi in Cascade, at a horserace. Said she had a baby with her - 'cute little bugger' is how he worded it. And that was it. I had to see her, see the boy. So I headed for Cascade. He was crawling everywhere and the cutest thing I'd ever seen. Naomi was at a retreat which gave me a chance to kind of – feel things out. I discovered she often left him with Simon, Joel and Joan, so I checked and discovered that Banks Folly had a couple of openings. I couldn't resist. I swore that as soon as Naomi returned, I'd take off, head back to the rodeo circuit. But I didn't. She never stayed long and as often as not, she'd take Blair with her when she left, but I stayed put, stayed out of her sight when she was there, but when she left him, I could watch over him and when she was there – I could watch over both of them.

"The summer after Blair turned ten, Naomi came back from a trip to Sri Lanka and she was sick and we learned she had cancer. Simon and Joel took excellent care of her, got her the best doctors, but it was a short battle. Near the end, they brought her home, set her up in the big bedroom overlooking the whole place. Blair was… angry and hurting and confused, but too smart to try to fool about his mother's condition. I found him one afternoon down in the stables. He was curled up in the corner of an empty stall, crying his heart out. I reacted instinctively. Went inside, picked him up, held him close, and let him cry."

Jim could figure out the rest. The real friendship between GM and Blair had been forged that day, a day when a small ten-year-old had finally given in to his fear and grief and a man had held him and let him cry.

"You need to tell him, GM. You've been there for him, done for him, cared for him and taught him. You have to know he'd forgive you for leaving Naomi, you have to know that if you know him at all."

GM walked over to the door and, hand on the knob, he said, "I'm going for a walk, but … I'll think about it." He opened the door. "I'll think about it."

With that, he walked out, shutting the door behind him. Jim stared at the closed door, understanding GM's need to get away. He'd just spent the last several minutes reliving his life, the mistakes, and the loss of the woman he loved. Yeah, he needed time alone.

For several minutes, Jim sat, his thoughts on both the possible sabotage of the movie - and this new information about the man he loved. The ringing of the phone finally interrupted his ruminations.

"Ellison."

"Jim?"

Recognizing his friend's voice, Jim said quickly, "What have you found out, Tony?"

"Actually, I've been instructed to turn the investigation over to a newly formed department that handles hate crimes. That's why I'm calling."

"Hate crimes? What the hell—"

"Jim, the order came from on high. Given the theme of the movie, the consensus is that both the emails and the incident with the cable are the result of someone's hatred of gays. You know how we're so sensitive to such things here in New York – pardon me while I puke – anyway, this brand spanking new department is taking over. The good news is that my boss has temporarily assigned me to them, so I'm still on the case."

"What about the investigation into Blair's racing buddies?"

"Nothing's panned out so far."

"And all the security plans?"

"They're still on. But I can tell you that the investigation will be centered around the theory that it's a member - or members - of your crew."

Surprised, Jim asked, "This theory is based on what, exactly?"

"Knowledge of the equipment, the timing, the fact that it had to have been within twenty-four hours of when the cable snapped… do I need to go on?"

"Okay, I can see where your people would have to consider someone on the shoot, but I know them. Hell, I hand-picked most of them."

"I understand that, but you don't know *all* of them, do you? Some were hired locally, correct?"

"That's true, but even they came to the production with reputations, Tony. I wanted people around me that could be trusted."

"Okay, I'll pass that on to my temporary new boss. But don't discount the theory out of hand, all right? You never truly know anyone."

"You're right, of course. I won't take anything for granted, trust me."

"Oh, hey, you I trust."

Hearing the smile in his old friend's voice, Jim grinned. "You jerk. And have I thanked you for this, by the way?"

"No, now that you mention it, you haven't. Ingrate."

Laughing outright, Jim said, "So when can I expect you and someone from this new department to drop by?"

"I'm working on that now and pushing for tomorrow. Any problem with that?"

"Nope. We'll be here."

"Yeah, make sure you are, as in healthy."

"Will do."

Jim hung up, a smile on his face. It was comforting having friends where they could do you the most good. He glanced toward the bedroom and decided to check on Blair. He entered quietly, satisfied by the fact that Blair was still dead to the world. There was a great deal he could be doing, but with a gentle smile, he sat down in the chair by the bed, content to do nothing but watch Blair.

Not a bad way to pass the time.

***

"Jim, Jim, Jim. I'm fine. Let's do this."

The Jim in question gave Blair a look screaming – okay, yelling – with doubt. Blair shook his head and repeated, "I – am – fine. We've already shot the running scene so this isn't exactly strenuous, man. Now put your director's hat back on and let me do my job so we can actually wrap on time tonight."

Seeing the surrender in Jim's eyes, Blair smiled, patted his arm and said, "Good, let's do it, man."

Jim nodded at his crew, everyone got into position, the shoot was called, and for the next two hours, Billy Sive lived once again at Madison Square Garden.

***

Lieutenant Tony Vanelli watched Jim with Blair Sandburg and gave himself a mental high five. He'd suspected his friend's sexual leanings almost from the beginning, but in all the years they'd known each other, he'd never asked. Maybe it was his old military training – or because he simply didn't care, but now, watching the two men, well, he didn't have a detective's shield for nothing. They were so gone on each other, it was kind of fun to watch. He also felt somewhat honored that here, in the privacy of a hotel room, they were allowing themselves the freedom to show that affection. It meant that Jim trusted him in spite of the fact that Tony had never asked.

It had been two quiet weeks since the klieg lighting incident and tonight, following a successful final day of shooting in the Big Apple, everyone was relaxed; jubilant even. Jim, Blair and the rest of the cast and crew had a two day break before heading for Canada and the final six to eight weeks of filming. For Tony's part – he was about as relaxed as a rattler readying itself to strike. His investigation into the various hate groups hadn’t turned up any significant leads – yet, but he was still hopeful. He knew damn well that there was at least one more shoe up there – ready to drop, and he was determined that when it did, no one else would be hurt. To that end, he'd be going with the crew when they left for Canada, thanks to his boss's agreement that now might not be a bad time to take some vacation. In reality, the city of New York was embarrassed that the incidents had happened on their watch, so letting him take a "working" vacation seemed the best way to save face since they fully expected him to solve it.

"You're awfully quiet," Jim noted as he sat down next to him.

"Just thinking I'm a lucky son-of-a-gun. Never been to Canada."

"Well, I'm so glad for our problems. Wouldn't want you to miss the trip."

"I see your wit has improved over the years," Tony said, his lips twitching upward.

"No, your ability to grasp the brilliance of my wit has improved over the years."

Tony grinned. "I'd forgotten how I never win with you." He indicated Blair, who was now talking to Ben and GM. "Bet he does, though."

Following Tony's gaze, Jim matched his grin. "He sure as hell does."

Turning his attention back to his friend, Tony said in a more serious tone, "You know it's not over, right?"

The grin faded, but Jim's gaze remained fixed on Blair. "Yeah. Yeah, I know."

***

Three weeks later

Blair sat in the small theater on the Vancouver studio lot and watched himself on the big screen. Jim was next to him, long legs stretched out in front of him. No one else was sharing this time with them for the simple reason that Jim wanted Blair to see how he really looked on the big screen – how he was bringing Billy to life.

For Blair's part – he was shocked out of his gourd. Watching playbacks just wasn't the same as seeing entire rolls of shot film in a theater, like now. He was so wrapped up in the story unfolding in front of him that he actually forgot he was looking at himself. The sound was rough, there was no music, the color was wonky and yet – the film was singing a passionate song that reeled the viewer in, captivated them and held them in its embrace.

Harlan tugged the heartstrings and watching him fall for the vibrant Billy was a journey that had to be taken. Billy's pride in who he was – what he was – shone brightly and threatened to blind the viewer with its beauty. His passion for running – and his deep and abiding love for Harlan sucked you in and you went - willingly - happily even. The fact that Harlan and Billy were two men seemed almost superfluous.

The film flickered and died, leaving Blair bereft, wanting more.

The lights came up to a soft, unobtrusive warm glow and Blair let out the breath he was holding. He turned to look at Jim and said, "You… I just don't… what you've done… it's so fucking brilliant, man. It's not even finished and it's already magic."

"You liked it, then?" Jim asked, a half smile playing about his lips.

Blair jumped to his feet. "Liked it? *Liked* it? Jim, don't you get it? Weren't you watching? That was fucking fantastic." He started to pace. "Harlan's confusion, his love for Billy, and Billy, my God, you've captured him so… I can't even begin to express—"

"Who's playing Harlan?" Jim asked lightly.

"What?"

"Hello? Who's playing Harlan?"

"Why… you are, of course. You're incredible. You're just fucking incredible."

"And who's playing Billy?"

"What? Are you crazy? Did you suffer a head injury or something? Memory gone? The sex last night too intense or something?"

"Blair, who is playing Billy?"

"I am, you jerk."

"Ah. So would you say that *you* might be responsible for some of that magic?"

Confused, Blair stopped his pacing to stand in front of Jim. He bit down on his lower lip. Finally, he asked, "Me?"

"Yeah, Einstein, you."

"You're the director, man. You're doing the directing, the editing, you're making this picture—"

"There's been no editing yet, Chief. And what was the last direction I gave you? For instance, earlier today, huh?"

"I… you… and the scene, and… and how…."

Jim got to his feet, which put him almost nose-to-nose with Blair. "Chief, I haven't directed you once in this film. Haven't *had* to direct you. I've had to direct Ben, Paul, Carl, had to pull emotions from them, guide their performances, direct *how* they played certain scenes. But not with you. Not once. I've had to help you with the technicalities, sure, but tell you how to play a scene? Nope, never. Don't you get what that means?"

"I… I… you—"

Jim placed his hands on either side of Blair's face and said, "It means, Chief, that magic up there was you."

Blair blinked up at him, started to shake his head, but Jim held fast – gentle, but fast. "Yes, Blair. You. Now will you believe me when I tell you how incredible you are? That there's no one else who could possibly have played this part *but* you?"

"I… I… you—"

Jim kissed him. Sometimes, it was the only way to shut him up.

When he finally let Blair go, he nipped his ear and whispered, "It's you, Chief. It's all you."

***

Tony sat in the office of Inspector Dan Patterson, the Chief's Executive Officer, who was currently on the phone with Tony's boss back in New York. He was only half listening, his mind on the magazine he held in his hand. Time Magazine, to be precise. On the cover, staring up at him; Blair Sandburg. The photo had been shot minutes after the younger man had won the Cascade Aspen Sweepstakes and the accompanying article inside detailed the account of the attempt on Blair's life by Alex Barnes.

Funny how things happen, he thought. They'd been pursuing the whole 'hate' crime aspect of the incidents that had been plaguing the shooting of The Front Runner and, admittedly, had failed to delve into the past of any of the key players. And they probably never would have, if he hadn't seen the very magazine he was holding now. Talk about dumb luck and a bad tooth. Oh, and a Vancouver dentist with old magazines on the tables in the waiting room. Tony moved his jaw gingerly and smiled. Fixed tooth – and the magazine.

Peterson hung up and said, "Your request has been approved, Lieutenant. I'll have the list for you within the hour, if that's acceptable?"

"It's more than acceptable, Inspector. I can't thank you enough for your help in this matter."

Peterson actually cracked a smile as he said, "Hands across the border, Lieutenant." He rose gracefully to his feet and asked, "Perhaps you'd enjoy a tour of our headquarters while you're waiting?"

Standing up, Tony nodded. "I'd like that very much."

***

"Jesus," Jim breathed out.

"You have to admit it's a bit of a coincidence," Tony said.

Jim stared at the piece of paper in his hand and tried to wrap his mind around what it could mean.

"There's more, Jim."

He tore his gaze from the black words to look up at his friend. "More?"

"I had my people check her flight plan – she took off from New York the same day we did."

"I never once considered her," Jim said, almost in a daze. "Not once."

"Hey, I'm the cop, remember? And I never thought to check into a relative of Alex Barnes, let alone his estranged daughter. The incidents were too diverse, Jim, to think they were aimed at one person. Even after the near run-down, which involved both Blair and Ben, it seemed as though the movie were the target, not Blair. But the moment I saw the photo of Alexis Barnes in the magazine – it clicked."

Jim shook his head. "But the klieg light? There's no way…."

Suddenly frowning, Jim let the words trail off as he re-considered that particular incident. His skin started to tingle and he rubbed absently at the back of his neck, where the small hairs were standing on end. "Tony, can we get a better analysis of that wire?"

"What are you thinking?"

Jim glanced up at him and said, "Laser beam. A controlled beam aimed at the wire when I called for the re-shoot."

"Shit, of course. The technology is out there and Alexis Barnes has the money to buy it. I'll take care of it. In the meantime, we have to assume she's got something planned for here."

"Or Montreal," Jim said, his expression dark.

"Blair will be covered, Jim. The Vancouver police are on board and he'll have around-the-clock protection. She won't get to him."

"Damn right she won't."

***

Alexis Barnes smoothed down her hair, leaned forward to better inspect her makeup, frowned petulantly and added a bit more shell pink lipstick. There, that was much better. It was strange looking into the mirror and not seeing her usual sleek, blonde hair and cornflower blue eyes. Instead, the woman who stared back at her had green eyes and red hair cut into a chic bob. She tucked some of the hair behind her left ear and thought, yes, a very good wig. Excellent, really. But then, coming from real hair and made to order at the cost of over fifteen hundred dollars, it damn well should be. And of course, the colored contact lenses were a stroke of genius.

She was ready. Alex picked up the ID badge and, looking very smug, tucked it into her wallet, right behind her brand new – and very fake – driver's license. She was now Patricia Reynolds, an extra on American movie set of 'The Front Runner'.

***

"Alexis? You're telling me that Alex is behind all of this?" Blair said, clearly in disbelief. "Jim, that makes no sense. Why would she try to ruin the film?"

Jim glanced over at Simon, Joel and GM, sending them an almost pleading look before bracing himself and facing Blair again. "She isn't, Chief. She's trying to kill you."

Blair shook his head. "No, no. None of the incidents…the klieg…that was…that was chance at best, man. And the emails—"

"Blair, she knew your addy, that wouldn't have been a problem," GM said softly.

"Look, Tony is going to have the wire further analyzed. I think we'll find out that it was sliced apart by a laser beam as you took up your position. That wasn't even remotely by chance, Chief. At least, not in my opinion – or Tony's. And if we turn out to be right – the near hit-and-run takes on new significance, doesn't it?"

Simon took the few steps necessary to bring him to Blair's side and draped an arm around him. "I know it seems highly unlikely that someone like Alexis would go to all this trouble, but the fact is, she was always a very selfish woman, Blair. I know you loved her once—"

"Thought. I *thought* I loved her," Blair said with a harsh bite to the words. "She was… was never the woman I briefly believed her to be." He looked quickly over at Jim and added, "And if I could accept this of anyone – it would be Alexis." He moved away from Simon, from all of them. Blue eyes suddenly dark with emotion, he said, "I'm sorry to have brought this into your life, man. Can't even begin to tell you how sorry--"

"Don't even go there, Sandburg," Jim said, his voice full of warning. "You know better. You're not responsible for any of this – Alex and her father are. One hundred percent. We'll deal and we'll keep yo-everyone safe. We'll stop her, Chief. We'll stop her."

***

Blair was painfully aware of the heightened security, even though great pains had been taken to make it as unobtrusive – and down right secretive – as possible. As he walked back to his trailer, bodyguard beside him, he came to the conclusion that Tony wanted Alex to make her way onto the set. Of course, he'd been telling himself that for the last two weeks. Two weeks of quiet. Peace. Paranoia.

Oh, yeah, fun times all around.

They'd finished filming the "European" track trek as experienced by Harlan and his star runners, with much of Vancouver and the surrounding areas doing a great job of standing in for Europe. Today was their last day of filming in British Columbia but, since they were doing interiors only, they were at Bridge Studios. Jim was playing catch-up, filming a few small but key scenes that had been budget-dependent. This afternoon, they'd shoot the final interior scene - one of the few love scenes that had survived the heavy sexual editing the studio had demanded – and tomorrow, the production would move to Montreal.

Stepping up into his trailer, the guard remaining outside by the door, Blair was greeted, as usual, by GM, who handed him a cold Diet Pepsi. Thankful, Blair shot him a grateful grin as he took it. "Man, I can really use this. The lights were killers today."

"So the body makeup doesn't protect your skin?" GM asked, his eyes twinkling in mirth.

"Oh, aren't you funny. You know darn well I don't have to go through that particular indignity until after lunch."

"Jim showed me the thong - I've got my camera ready," GM said as he set a sandwich plate down in front of Blair, who'd flopped down on the couch and immediately toed off his shoes. "Eat, you'll need your strength for that disgusting love scene."

"Gosh," Blair said, as he sat up with interest, his eyes on the roast beef, provolone cheese, soft Kaiser rolls and required condiments, "I can't decide if you're Letterman or Leno. Oh, wait, I've got it - you're Bob Dole."

Feigning an arrow wound through the heart, GM gasped, stumbled back, then straightened and said, "Yuk-yuk."

Before Blair could come up with a snappy comeback, the door opened and Jim stepped in. Blair glanced down at his lunch and nodded sagely. Now he knew why there was so much food on the platter.

"I could smell that roast beef from the other side of the sound stage," Jim said as he joined Blair. His gaze took in the mounds of beef and cheese and then he frowned. Looking up at GM, he asked, "What, no onions?"

"Oh, look, GM, another Bob Dole wit."

Looking puzzled, Jim said, "What did I say?"

Blair leaned in close, close enough that his breath would waft across Jim's face, and said, "Love scene ring a bell, Mr. Onion Breath?"

"Does two men with onion breath canceling each other out, ring a bell, Mr. Know-it-All?"

Laughing, Blair said, "GM, we got any onions?"

"Sorry, no. Guess the love scene will have to do without."

"Lucky us," Blair said as he reached for a Kaiser roll.

***

"What are you thinking?" Jim asked.

Lunch was over and they were both resting, taking a much needed break from movie-making, with thirty minutes left of said break. Blair sighed, put his feet in Jim's lap, and said, "I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop, same as you. Ever since we got the results on the wire confirming the laser cut, I've been expecting Alex to do something."

Jim, looking surprised, said, "I'm this watchman of yours and yet, if you've been edgy, it's gone right over my head. You've been the epitome of cool, calm and collected, even to me."

"Watchman of *mine*?"

"Only you would focus in on that. You're unbelievable, Chief."

"You've been dealing with your senses for months, Jim. I thought you were okay with them now."

"I am, Sandburg, I am. The issue isn't with my senses, which have certainly come in handy, okay? It's you calling me a sentinel. Like that was a big deal or something."

"You don't think it is? You don't think being someone this special is a big deal?"

"For an actor? Hello? In a word: no." He tweaked one of Blair's socked toes. "I'm sure if I were a cop or something, it would be different, but somehow I don't think those ancient tribes of yours had sentinels who also happened to be the village actor, okay?"

"Hey, for all you know, Shakespeare was one, so cut it out. You're a fucking sentinel whether you like it or not. It's a gift, man. A great gift. We just have to find your tribe, you know?"

Jim's expression softened as he reached over and ran a finger down Blair's cheek. "Don't you know that you're my tribe, Chief? You, GM, Simon, Joel - our friends. All my tribe."

"Well, I'll be damned. You've actually given this some thought, haven't you?"

Looking very sheepish, Jim's gaze slid away as he mumbled, "No."

"Liar," Blair said, smiling.

Jim felt his own grin forming and looked back up at his partner. "Okay, okay, maybe I've thought about it. A bit."

"You jerk," Blair said fondly.

Looking at Blair in that moment, Jim felt closer to Harlan Brown than he had in days. Worry about the movie, their safety, the threat Alex presented, all had combined to disconnect him from his character and, considering that Sandburg was his Billy, he'd felt just as disconnected from Blair. Billy had been Harlan's savior just as Blair had been his, and to feel this odd polarization in the face of all that was happening was nothing less than criminal. It had been days since they'd made love or even managed anything more than a quick, covert kiss - and that was criminal too. It was also something he could rectify right now. He did an efficient job of rearranging them both, to Blair's surprise and puzzlement, at least until Jim wrapped his arms around him, tilted his head back, and kissed him.

When he was done, Blair, after licking his lips, asked, "What was that for?"

"That was for us. To remind us that we're more than this movie, more than Alex and her revenge," he answered with an almost stubborn edge to his voice.

"Like we're not going to be doing just this very thing shortly?"

"Oh, right. Love scenes in a movie are just so damn romantic, not."

"You've never done one with me before," Blair said, his eyes going dark with lust. He was just reaching for Jim's zipper when someone knocked on the trailer door. "Damn," Blair hissed out even as Jim started to move away, to put some distance between them. "Who is it?"

"Millie. It's time," Jim said with obvious disappointment. Even as he got to his feet, Millie was sticking her head inside.

"Make-up's waiting, Jim."

"On our way, Millie. Thanks."

When the door closed, Blair got up as well, gave Jim a small shrug and said, "Let's go get made up so we can make love in front of sixty people."

Laughing, Jim pulled him close for another kiss before they headed outside.

***

She sat on a lawn chair, an open book on her lap. To anyone looking, she appeared to be another extra, patiently waiting, as was the life of an extra, for the next call to the set. Around her, others were lounging, reading, knitting, talking quietly, or grabbing a bite to eat. They were all assigned to The Front Runner and had been for the entire week, but today was their last day - but it wouldn't be hers. When the production moved to Montreal - she'd move with them. Her position as an extra, thanks to spending a couple of nights with the staffer in charge of choosing extras, was firmly cemented. According to Stu, the man who'd thrown his honor over for her body, Ellison wanted a crew he could 'trust', and that meant that several of the key extras would be making the trip. And now, she was one of them. She already had her ID badge for Montreal. At that thought, she reached down and patted the purse that sat next to her chair.

She smiled a small, secretive smile. The moment of pulling the trigger, squeezing it slowly and deliciously, was a vision that never failed to bring a flutter of happiness to her heart and a nice buzz of satisfaction in her mind. When she closed her eyes and imagined the bullet tearing through flesh, envisioned the blossom of blood spurting out, she experienced a visceral thrill that came damn close to giving her an orgasm.

Only a few more days.

She hoped he would truly enjoy and appreciate his last hours on this earth before she sent him to Hell.

***

Blair was wearing a robe and flip-flops and felt ridiculous. Especially since he was wearing nothing but that stupid little flesh-colored thong under the robe - and he was surrounded by the crew. He glanced over at Jim…and couldn't help the somewhat self-conscious grin. However foolish he felt, Jim had to feel worse. He was, after all, the director, and there he stood, with Demond, his cinematographer, and Rob, the AD, wearing a similar robe and twin flip-flops.

The three men were going over the last minute details; Jim giving them both a reminder of his vision for the scene, the kind of lighting he wanted, and the angles needed. The surprise of the afternoon for Demond and Rob was the fact that Jim was going to shoot the scene twice: two different versions. He was going to do the planned scene, which had Harlan returning to the bedroom, finding Billy asleep, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and kissing him. A sheet would be artfully arranged so that the camera would capture the majority of "Billy's" body as he slept on his stomach, the lighting such that little would be left to the imagination. The kiss itself, which originally led to another bout of love-making, would be short, with Jim remaining on the edge, in his robe, albeit an open one, one foot on the floor - like a television show from the fifties where censors demanded that married couples sleep in twin beds and the husband always keeping one foot on the floor should he sit on the same bed as his screen wife. God forbid anyone should think that Jim and Margaret Anderson actually got under the covers *together*, let alone had sex. And the Cleavers? Horrors.

Blair still remembered Jim's anger when he got the revised script and what had been done to the most important love scene in the movie - a scene that represented the last time Harlan and Billy would ever make love. To reduce it to a kiss was, for Jim, a major crime, and Blair couldn't disagree with him. The way the script had originally been written, the critical scene had been extremely powerful. As with most adaptations, many moments in favorite books have to be left out when transferred to the big screen. But often, a good script writer will find ways to combine pivotal moments - powerful moments - into one key scene, and that was the case with their movie. All the small instances that demonstrated Harlan's love for Billy, and Billy's devotion and love for Harlan were brought to fruition in one scene - one love scene - between the two characters.

Discovering that that moment had been reduced to one sleepy kiss had succeeded in showing Blair that Jim Ellison actually had one hell of a temper - when provoked.

Suddenly Blair found himself smiling at the memory - a smile that grew as he remembered Jim's face when he decided to film a second version. The gleam in his eye had been almost maniacal in nature.

"You ready, Sandburg?" Jim asked, his voice interrupting Blair's thoughts.

Giving himself a mental shake, Blair nodded, wondering not for the first time, how he and Jim could do this and not get…carried away.

Three frustrating hours later, he had his answer.

Filming a love scene was like a trip to the dentist. It was excruciating. The only good part was that he got to lie in bed the whole time. Okay, sure, he was basically naked and people were constantly touching him - which would have been fine if it had been Jim -  
but no, it was makeup (three people patting, buffing, and reapplying over his entire body), lighting ("tilt your chin up a inch", "Knee at a forty degree angle here, please", "hand on the pillow just…here"), and hair (spritzing, forming, rearranging, stray curls "just so").

As Harlan, Jim had, so far, walked over to the bed twelve times but had yet to get to the part where he actually sat down. The first time Rob had been forced to yell, "Cut!" there'd been an unplanned shadow obscuring Blair's profile so they realigned the shot and the lighting. The second through fifth attempts were ruined by, in order: a twitch (Blair's); a breeze from the fan that had disturbed his "hair" and thus ruined the shot; the dropping of a brush by someone in "Hair"; and finally, Jim, who, frustrated, had accidentally crossed his own mark, thus ruining the shot. By the sixth take, Blair didn't care who or what blew the shot as he seriously considered taking a nap.

Now they were on take 'what the fuck' as Jim called it, and the two of them had yet to touch, which was hilarious, if he thought too much about it. He figured by the time Jim actually kissed him, he'd be so relieved he wouldn't have to worry about his body betraying him.

He was right – and he was wrong.

***

Well, hallelujah, take fifteen was a winner. Blair felt it immediately. The stillness on the set, the sense of men and women holding their breaths, the quiet way Jim moved to the side of the bed, the way he paused this time, paused to take in the view…and then Blair felt - no, that was wrong….

…Billy felt the bed dip, and a moment later, Harlan rested his hand on the small of Billy's back, just resting it as if it belonged there and no where else, as if it were the best and most natural place for his hand to be. Billy turned his head and smiled sleepily.

Harlan brushed hair from the beloved face, saw his life in the beautiful eyes that were probably seeing nothing more than a blur of his features and, as Billy's lips parted ever so slightly in invitation, Harlan could no more have resisted doing what he did next than he could have turned down a "no strings attached" million dollar gift. He leaned down and touched his lips to Billy's, reveling in the moment when Billy's lips parted under his own.

They moved as one, arms and legs entwining, soft breathy moans mingling as Harlan both lost - and found - himself. He entered Billy and Billy entered him and two souls became one….

"Cut and that's a take!" Rob yelled.

Startled, Blair blinked rapidly even as Jim's lips brushed his ear and whispered words penetrated his fogged brain. "You okay, Chief?"

"I…wha'?"

Deliberately blocking Blair's upper torso, Jim turned just enough to catch his AD's eye. "Good job, Rob. Let's hope that's a keeper."

Nodding enthusiastically, Rob said, "Oh, yeah, man. It was perfect. If I didn't know better, I'd say you two have been rehearsing non-stop. It was fantastic. Incredible. I was holding my breath that nothing went wrong to stop it."

Satisfied, Jim nodded and asked, "Robe?" even as Sheila from Costume stepped forward and placed Blair's robe in his outstretched hand. Jim smiled, turned back to Blair and asked, his voice so low that only Blair could hear him, "Can you get up?"

Suddenly seeing the humor in the situation, Blair chuckled. "Oh, sure, you had to use the word 'up', huh?"

Laughing outright, Jim threw the robe over Blair's head. Getting to his feet, he belted his own and said, "Come on, loverboy, let's see the playback."

Dragging the garment off his head, Blair snorted as he quickly slipped into it. Still somewhat self-conscious, he got out of the bed and joined Jim at the monitor, his first full love scene completed without, he hoped, total embarrassment.

***

They watched the small screen and, even to Blair's untrained eye, it seemed they had a winner. As he watched the two men making love – there was no way the men were he and Jim – he felt a stirring in his heart, a bittersweet emotion blossoming at the thought of what Harlan was about to lose.

"Jim, this is incredible, and if you want my advice, don't change anything, don't do the other scene. This is it. This is the movie, the heart and soul of it," Rob said, his gaze transfixed on the monitor.

"I'm not going to. You're right, this is it. And if they crap all over themselves, tough shit."

Blair smiled. "Nice use of human excrement, man."

Rob and Jim looked at each other - and burst out laughing.

***

Blair hid a yawn behind his hand and slumped further down in his seat. He checked his watch and groaned. Another hour. Why the hell did Jim insist on arriving two hours early for a charter flight? Could someone tell him that, please? He yawned again but didn't bother to hide it this time. Neither he nor Jim had managed much sleep the night before, thanks to the need to 'finish' what they'd hadn't been able to start while filming the love scene. Talk about frustration and blue balls. In spite of the tediousness of shooting the scene, the fact was that somehow, he and Jim had connected in a way that had surprised both of them. And watching the playback had only fed that connection. Unfortunately, wrapping up at the studio, finalizing all the details that accompanied moving a shooting to its new location had meant no privacy until after midnight when they finally made it back to their hotel. Even then, Jim had spent almost twenty minutes on the phone with Tony, only to be told that there was still no sign of Alexis Barnes.

Oddly enough, that news hadn't put the damper on their ardor that one might have expected. It had, in fact, fueled it.

Blair smiled softly at the memory of last night – or rather, this morning. It had been positively… transcendent.

Goopy. He was so loopy, he was waxing goopy.

"Hey," Jim said as he sat down beside him and handed him a cup of coffee.

"You've earned your place in heaven for this," Blair said as he sniffed appreciatively at the fragrant brew.

"So no worries now? I can be as lewd as I want, when I want?"

"Yep," Blair answered after a much needed sip of his caffeine shot.

"Good to know," Jim said. "We'll be boarding soon. Just waiting for Tony."

"Tony?"

Nodding, Jim added, "He got clearance to move the investigation to Montreal, thanks to some nice 'hands-across-countries-and-borders' cooperation. The Montreal police were very open to the same joint effort as their counterparts here in Vancouver offered."

"Do I hear a touch of sarcasm in your voice?"

Jim shrugged. "Politics. Drives me crazy. No one wants to be shown up, or take responsibility for--"

"Getting the famous James Ellison killed? Or anyone attached to the Academy Award winning actor, thus causing an international incident?"

Jim stopped in the middle of taking a sip of his coffee to shoot a questioning look at Blair. "What the hell do you…."

When his voice trailed off, Blair grinned. "I'm guessing you've figured it out now." He shook his head in amazement. "For a famous man, you sure are dense about your power. Which, considering all the Ben and Jerry ice cream we've got – is pretty amazing."

"Damn, I never even…it never even crossed…not once…."

"You're so cute when you're confused."

"Bite me, Sandburg."

"I believe you're carrying a damn fine impression of my teeth on your right ass cheek, Mr. Ellison."

Jim shifted to his left ass cheek at the reminder and said, "Back to the subject at hand…which was…what?"

"You're impossible."

"Mr. Ellison, your flight is cleared to go," a young woman said as she seemingly appeared out of nowhere.

Rising to his feet, he flashed his actor smile at her. "Thanks. Would you let the others know?"

"Of course, Mr. Ellison."

She seemed to float away as Blair got to his feet and hefted his overnight bag over his shoulder. Frowning, he looked around and, when he failed to spot GM, asked, "Jim, we're missing someone."

"No, we're not. He's already on board. He wanted to make sure everything was tip-top," Jim answered as he took Blair by the elbow and started to lead him out of the small private terminal.

"GM went on board while we had to sit in hard chairs for two freaking hours? Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but I could have caught a few winks, you know?"

As they made their way onto the tarmac and toward the private Leer Challenger 601, Jim tugged on a curly strand of Blair's hair and said, "Getting a bit spoiled, are we?"

"Very funny, man. Very funny. That building called a terminal doesn't even qualify as stable, okay?"

"Yep, you're now officially spoiled. My work here is done."

Blair rolled his eyes heavenward. "You jerk."

They climbed the ramp steps and at the top, Jim ducked his head and entered the jet first. Once Blair was in, Jim stepped to the right, thus revealing the interior - and the eight people wearing party hats and yelling out, "Happy Birthday, Blair!"

***

"You planned this?" Blair asked Jim seconds after he'd been hugged so hard and so often that he was pretty sure he'd just lost five pounds.

"Yeah," Jim answered smugly. "I could tell you'd totally forgotten the significance of the date, other than it's the day we leave for Montreal, so I called Simon and, together with GM, the surprise party was born. Of course, you'll be forced to go through it again when the entire crew throws you their version of a surprise party at the hotel, but I know you'll buck up under the strain of two parties," he finished with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"So I need to act surprised at some point?" Blair asked right after giving Jim a jab in the ribs.

"You do. Just remember this and the surprise will just flow out of you. And speaking of surprises, just how in the hell does a man forget his birthday, anyway?"

Simon, who, along with Joel, had changed his plans in order to join in on the "plane" party, draped an arm over his son's shoulders. "You'd think we'd mistreated him by forgetting them when he was growing up."

"Or buying him gifts like lumps of coal," Joel added with a grin.

GM handed Blair a glass of champagne and said, "This isn't the first time. Remember when he forgot back in '86?"

"Yeah, but he was at Rainier then," Simon said.

"Okay," Tony, who'd also been in on the plane party, said. "Why should being at Rainier keep him from remembering his own birthday?"

"Yeah," Rob asked, equally curious.

Blair pulled at Jim's sleeve and said in a very loud stage whisper, "I am here, aren't I?"

Laughing, Jim nodded. "Yeah, Sandburg, you're here."

"The problem is," Ben said, "you're so short, we talk over you and tend to forget you're here."

"So how tall would I become if, for instance, I were to promise not to tell the tabloids about that little incident in a Vancouver nightclub a couple of weeks ago?"

"Gosh, Blair, you're already well over six feet…how much taller to do you want to be?" Ben asked with an ingratiating smile on his handsome, movie star face.

"Excuse me?" Jennifer Holden, Ben's fiancée, asked. "Is this 'little' incident something I should know about, sweetie?"

"How much do you want to know about your future husband's ability to do the Makarena in front of two hundred people, Jen?" Blair asked innocently.

She glanced from her fiancée to Blair and back again. "The Makarena? You, who won't dance with me, was doing the…Makarena?" Jennifer almost squealed.

"Nice going, Blair. Remind me to return the favor as soon as possible."

Giving Ben his own version of a 'movie-star smile', Blair said, "I'm perfect, man. No payback possible."

Simon, looking a great deal like a very satisfied cat staring at a now empty canary cage, said, "I'd be more than happy to lend you a video of Blair when he's sleeping. That would probably give you enough ammunition to last a lifetime."

"You know, this is my birthday. Do you think we could, you know, celebrate with cake and presents instead of these not-so-clever-but-you-all-think-they-are jibes?"

"Sure, Shorty, just as soon as we're in the air," Jim said as he nodded to the stewardess who'd just given him the signal that they were clear for take-off. He gently pushed Blair down into one of the plush seats and said, "Then you can have all the cake you can eat, but I don't know where you got the idea you were getting any gifts."

As everyone moved to take their seats and buckle in, Blair peeked around Jim, pointed at the small table behind Simon and Joel, and said, "Maybe that mound of birthday-wrapped packages over there?"

"Damn, I keep forgetting how smart you are," Jim quipped. "Just can't fool you."

"Ha-ha," Blair said in a sing-song voice. "You're just so damn funny – not."

The plane began to move forward and, for a few moments, no one spoke. The jet taxied down the runway, made the turn onto the take-off runway, paused, and after a moment, started up again, picking up speed as it went. Its ascent was smooth and easy and, when the plane finally leveled off, Blair grinned and said, "Where's the cake?"

That was all it took to get the party started.

End part 4


	5. Chapter 5

"So you were never able to find her?"

Tony shook his head. "No. We got nothing after she left the terminal. She never checked into any hotel, at least not under her own name. Recent house rentals were investigated, we went into her background to see if there might be friends she could be staying with but came up with nothing. Same thing with the list of her father's friends that you provided. It's as if she walked out of that airport and vanished into thin air."

Simon, a concerned expression on his face, glanced over at Blair, who had his head buried in one of his new birthday books. "She has incredible resources." He looked back at Tony and added, "We can't let anything happen—"

"We won't, Mr. Banks. All precautions are being taken, security will be tight, and we both know that Blair will never be alone. She won't get anywhere near him and neither will anyone she may have hired."

Simon nodded as if satisfied, but his expression clearly telegraphed his doubts. "I think I need some more champagne," he finally said. "It's going to be a long flight and I plan to enjoy every safe minute of it."

Understanding exactly what he meant, Tony only wished he could have something stronger than soda water.

***  
A half smile on his face, Jim watched Blair enjoy his gifts. He had no doubt that if he called Blair's name right now, the younger man wouldn't hear him, so intent and enthralled was he in the books, disks and other gifts. Especially the books.

Watching Blair, Jim realized that he'd never been in love, not in all his thirty-six years. Sure, in the back of his mind, he'd given some thought to finding that "one person to share your life with" but he'd never believed such a person really existed, so the thought never seriously invaded his life. But that day in the stable, getting his first look at Blair...and then taking his hand? Damn, the immediate force of the connection between them had driven home - as nothing else could have - that love was everything. Or at least love with Blair was everything. Hell, Blair was everything. He could no longer imagine life without him.

Why, at that moment, one of his movies, "Sunset" should spring to mind was certainly a puzzle - and then he remembered a scene with his female co-star, Catherine Zeta-Jones, where she'd told his character that if anything happened to him, she wouldn't be able to go on. His character, an undercover cop minutes away from being discovered, had shaken her and made her promise that she would continue to live, to be happy, because if she didn't, what the hell was their love about?

His character, Todd Armstrong, had, indeed, died at the end; the only movie where his hero had perished. The final scene had been strong as Catherine's character, Melanie, knelt as his grave and, per his final wish, removed the ring he'd given her in order to place it on the tombstone, thus keeping the vow she'd given him to go on with her life. The camera had pulled back as she risen and, with a final look at the headstone, walked away, the camera following her until she was a mere speck in the distance. He was told that audiences had sobbed uncontrollably and he could remember laughing at the very idea.

Now…now he knew better. He understood that whatever he felt for Blair Sandburg couldn't be dismissed with such a shallow, meaningless gesture. If he lost Blair - he'd lose himself - and this was, quite simply, an undeniable fact. It might be considered wrong, might even be considered a slap in the face to their feelings for each other, because he had no doubt that Blair would fully expect him to go on with his life. Oh, sure, he'd joke about a suitable period of mourning and how ten or fifteen years might be adequate, but underneath the joking, he'd be deadly serious. But facts were facts and no one, not even Blair, knew Jim Ellison the way Jim Ellison did. And he knew it would be over if anything happened to Blair. He might be playing Harlan Brown, be similar to the man in many areas, but when it came to getting on with his life in the face of a huge loss - which Harlan had eventually done - he was as different from the man as it was possible to be.

But then…Harlan hadn't known Blair Sandburg.

***

"Does it seem to you that my life was actually boring before you came along?" Blair asked as he tossed his coat onto the bed.

"Seem? There's no 'seem' about it, Sandburg," Jim said as he kicked off his shoes.

They'd landed over an hour ago at the St-Hubert Airport and it had been a short drive to the InterContinental Montreal hotel. Checking in hadn't been an issue - it never was with Jim, thanks to a staff who took care of such mundane details. Upon their arrival, they'd been ushered inside, over to the elevator, and then up to one of only fifteen Tourelle suites. Simon and Joel were taken to another one, Tony joining them as their guest while GM, as always, joined Jim and Blair. Ben and Jennifer had a suite in another part of the hotel along with the rest of the primary cast needed for this part of the shoot. Because the majority of the shooting crew would be Canadian, Jim had brought only his key crew members and had, at his own expense, put them up in the Club rooms at the hotel.

Blair tested the bed and grinned. "Not bad, Jim. Not bad at all."

Jim grabbed Blair's overnighter and started unpacking it and Blair, an amused expression on his face, said, "It must kill you that the luggage went ahead of us and is already unpacked."

Walking into the bathroom with both their shaving kits, Jim said, "Not true. I'll redo it all later."

Convulsed in laughter, Blair fell backward as he choked out, "You're so predictable."

Walking back into the room, Jim stood over his partner and, hands on hips, said, "That's not what you said last night, Chief."

Blair couldn't answer – he was laughing too hard – and then Jim was on top of him, mouth plastered to his, tongue claiming squatter rights, and answering seemed totally unnecessary.

***

Combing his fingers through soft, slightly tangled curls, Jim asked, "So - how did you like your birthday?"

"What, it's over?" Blair asked as he drew circles on Jim's bare chest.

"Good point. Brilliant point, in fact." He lifted his head, twisted his arm so he could see his watch, and said, "We're due downstairs for dinner in less than forty minutes and unless my nose is deceiving me, we're both in desperate need of a shower."

"Then I say, possessing the brilliant mind that I do: let's go take a shower."

Unfortunately, sharing the hot water had led to doing more than just bathe and they ended up using twenty of their precious forty minutes. Fortunately, both were quick dressers so they exited the elevator at the lobby right on time. The hotel had a couple of restaurants and Blair remembered something about "Les Continents" as the meeting place for their dinner, so he wasn't surprised when Jim deftly guided him toward the place. But he was surprised when, instead of being shown to a table, they were taken to one of the private dining rooms.

Blair should have been prepared for what came next - but he wasn't because he'd assumed the crew's surprise party would be on the set. Hence, he wasn't prepared for the balloons and flowers, or the presents piled high on a table in the corner. And he definitely wasn't prepared for the huge birthday cake in the shape of a track field that took center stage in the room, let alone the fifty plus people wearing funny birthday hats and yelling, "Happy Birthday, Blair!"

Surprised twice in one day. A man could have a heart attack.

***

She walked languidly into the restaurant, gave her name (another fake) and was seated immediately. She'd had the reservation since discovering the date Jim Ellison would be checking in. She knew what today was and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that the man would arrange a party here, at this particular restaurant, for Blair. She supposed some would say it was foolish, but she doubted her own father - were he alive - would recognize her. The fact was, she felt supremely confident about the days to come and was very pleased with the arrangements she'd made. Everything was in place and by the end of the week, her father would be avenged.

Her corner table was only a few feet from the door to one of the private dining rooms, and while the sound-proofing was excellent, she could still hear the voices singing "Happy Birthday". She smiled, lifted her water glass and, in a move that was barely discernible to anyone watching, saluted the room. "Happy Birthday, Blair. You're definitely not going to get any older."

***

He had it planned down to the minute. It wouldn't be easy, timing was everything, but he'd succeed. Failure wasn't an option.

Hadn't a famous actor said that in a famous movie?

No doubt.

The movie crew was scheduled to shoot for one week - and for one week, he'd be perfect; invisible, doing his job, and waiting for the day they'd film the final race scene. Ellison had it penciled in for Thursday - and on Thursday, Billy Sive/Blair Sandburg would die.

***

There was no way he'd admit it, but he was nervous as hell. So was Joel. Simon watched the filming with an edgy sense of impending doom. There was really no reason for it, Tony and the SPVM had everything covered, but damn, they were getting closer to shooting the final scene and he found himself waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Here," Joel said as he handed him an ice cold Coke. "And stop grinding your teeth. Try some gum or it'll be the dentist for you when we get home."

Simon took the drink but his gaze remained fixed on Blair, who was running a couple of practice laps with Jeff Corrigan, the actor playing Armas Sepponan, the Finnish runner who would lose to Billy in the 10,000 meter run (the scene they were preparing to film), but win due to Billy's murder during the 5,000.

All the necessary close-ups and reaction shots of Jim and the other actors had been completed so all that was left to shoot - was the race itself. Since this was Billy's gold medal-winning run, and constituted the last high before the dramatic final scenes, Jim naturally wanted everything perfect. Once again he would be going for several long, unbroken shots, which was why, Simon assumed, Blair and Jeff were warming up. There were no stunt runners for Blair, Ben or Jeff, something Jim had been adamant about. But neither had he wanted anyone injured so, smart man that he was, he'd arranged a running a coach for all three. Blair was a natural, had even been on the track team in high school, but neither Ben nor Jeff had any real running experience prior to signing up for The Front Runner.

"Jim thinks they'll finish tomorrow," Joel suddenly said.

"Yeah, I figured as much. The week's shoot has gone almost too well, if you know what I mean."

Joel nodded, his gaze now on Blair, who was winding down his run even as two make-up artists ran over to his chair, ready to repair and replace. "You're thinking…quiet before the storm?"

"More like this is the eye of the storm."

"Did you hear that Tony thinks he has a lead on Alexis?"

Simon nodded, but his expression said he didn't hold out much hope that said lead would get them closer to finding the woman. Joel couldn't disagree. This week had been full of supposed leads, all leading nowhere. The Montreal police were working on the natural assumption that Alexis would have hired someone to do her work for her and, with that in mind, had their people checking with snitches, chasing down known muscle-men and hit men in an effort to find out the 'Who' and stop him before anything happened. But like Alexis' whereabouts, they'd come up empty-handed so far.

Simon turned around and looked at the stadium seats behind them, all full. Seeing his concern, Joel said, "You know it's safe, Simon. The stands are full of relatives of the police, high school students from the surrounding schools, off-duty police and firemen, and Bridge Studio personnel and *their* relatives, along with a few of the regular and assigned extras that Jim brought from Los Angeles."

"I know - you're right. You're right."

"But…."

"But nothing…you're right. My looking at those faces isn't going to help anything, is it? I'm not going to see a neon sign over the head of one of them, telling me "here's your killer". I *know* this, but I'm still looking. Searching."

"You're not alone." Joel jostled him lightly and pointed at Jim. "He's searching too, always is. Even when you think he's deep in the making of this movie - he's searching, listening, watching."

"I know, I just can't—"

"Simon, we're doing everything possible. We've got to have faith."

"You don't understand, Joel." He finally faced his partner, eyes dark with anger. "I *want* something to happen. I want it to be over. I *want* her to try and I want her caught - *now*. And why? Because what I don't want is this hanging over Blair's head for an indefinite period of time. I want her caught, behind bars and out of our hair."

"O-kay, I get that. Not surprising." He placed his hand on Simon's arm and squeezed lightly. "It's okay, Si. It's okay."

***

"CUT! That's a print!" Jim yelled, clearly happy.

Blair, Jeff and Paul Young, the actor playing Mike, one of the other American Olympic runners, all high-fived each other and jumped down from the podium. The prop master, Gerry Foster, was there immediately, collecting the 'fake' medals and the bouquets.

"Guys," Jim said as he walked up and Gerry walked away and toward his prop cabinet, "that was perfect. Good job. I really felt the moment."

Jeff slapped Blair on the back and said, "Yeah, well, his energy is what I fed off of and it made it real for me."

"I'll second that," Paul said. "I almost hated giving up that bronze to Gerry. Thanks to Blair, I felt like I really earned it."

"Guys," Blair finally said, "With all this hair, I really can't afford a swollen head, okay?"

Jim took a swipe at the chestnut curls, but Blair was too quick and ducked away in time. "No touching the hair, man!"

Laughing, Jim turned toward his assistant. "We're a wrap for today, let everyone know, Millie."

"Will do, Boss."

Dropping his arm over Blair's shoulders, Jim said, "Good day, Sandburg. Very good day. We got the race in the can, and now the awards ceremony. We're humming along."

"So tomorrow, we shoot the 5000?"

"We do indeed. We are officially one day ahead of schedule."

They were walking toward Blair's trailer, Jim's arm now at his side. Blair glanced up at him and said, "But in reality, we're right on schedule, because you planned to wrap tomorrow, right?"

"Hoped. I hoped to wrap tomorrow. I want Friday, Saturday and Sunday for us, Chief. Before we head home." He waggled his eyebrows and said out of the corner of his mouth while making Groucho Marx motions, "I have plans for you."

"Damn, I'm lucky," Blair said just before breaking into a run and sprinting for the trailer.

Watching him, Jim could only shake his head in wonder. Where the hell did the guy get his energy? Feeling damn good, Jim followed at a more restrained pace. After all, the stadium was still full of people.

***

The young woman debated the proper course of action. Should she…or shouldn't she? What was the worse that could happen if she did? Embarrassed if wrong. And if she didn't…and something hinkey happened? Why hadn't she asked herself this question earlier? Mind made up, Sally Evers, one of the extras that had been with the movie from the start, picked up her purse, made sure she had her ID badge, and walked over to one of the security men. A few minutes later, she was being hustled away and over toward the security center.

***

"Gerry, everything collected?"

Gerry Foster nodded. "We're set, Rob. Everything accounted for today."

"And you're set for tomorrow? You've got the new schedule?"

"Got it."

The AD gave him the thumbs up and moved on, making sure everything was shutting down the way it should for the night.

Gerry sat down, took out a handkerchief and wiped down his face. It wasn't particularly hot, even with the roof of the stadium retracted, but he couldn't stop sweating. He glanced down at the case and just as quickly averted his gaze. The contents were for tomorrow…he had to hang onto that.

"Mr. Foster?"

Surprised as much by the "Mister" as the voice coming out of nowhere, Gerry looked up, startled. He swallowed hard and managed a stiff, "Yeah?"

"If you'll come with us, please?"

For the first time, he realized he was looking at two of the security men. Sweat broke out on his upper lip and he could feel it trickle down his spine. This wasn't possible. It wasn't what it looked like - there was just some other kind of issue. Sure, that was it. He smiled and got to his feet. "Sure. What's up?" Good, he sounded perfectly normal.

"Just follow me, please."

No one was watching them, most too busy packing up for the day, eager to head home. That was good. No questions later. He nodded, worked hard *not* to look back at the case, and followed the men. Actually, he quickly realized, follow would be an incorrect term since he was book-ended by the two beefy bodies.

***

Sergent-détective Yves Badeau of the Service de police de la Ville de Montréal waited until the two security men disappeared down the tunnel with their suspect before moving towards the man's work area and the silver and black case tucked in between the chair and the prop cabinet.

He picked it up but didn't open it. He headed back for the security center.

***

Tony sat at the table drumming his fingers on the desk pad. If everything checked out – the nightmare would be over soon. He hadn't said anything to Jim, didn't want to get his hopes up. Besides, the man would have wanted to be here, to be in on this, and Tony didn't trust Jim's emotions. Not where Blair was concerned.

The door to the small office opened and one of the inspectors stuck his head in. "He's here and Yves is on his way with the case," he said, his French accent almost soothing to Tony.

"Do you have the go-ahead from your end to open it?"

The man shook his head. "Not yet. Our apologies for this unforgivable delay."

"No problem – we might be able to get him to open it for us."

"Oui. Shall I have him brought in now?"

Tony nodded and prepared himself for the "interview" of the man they now suspected of having been hired by Barnes - to kill Blair Sandburg.

***

GM took one look at Jim and Blair and decided it was time to make himself scarce. Jim wouldn't leave the stadium until he was sure everything was shut down tight – and in the meantime, it was obvious what he had in mind. Yep, time to take a walk. Smiling, he picked up his Stetson and said, "I'm going for a stroll, Blair. Be back in…oh, say…an hour?"

"Oh, sure, GM. Breath of fresh air and all that…not that you haven't had plenty of both all day…or anything."

"You know these old legs. If I'm not careful, they'll stiffen up on this cowboy. Have fun, boys." With that, he walked out, not missing the grateful smile on Jim's face.

Once outside, he thought he might check in with Tony, who he knew had been on the set all day and was now probably over at the security offices planning the set-up for tomorrow. He waved at the two bodyguards, one on either side of the trailer steps, and, hat low on his brow and whistling, ambled off.

***

Blair wondered if he'd ever be able to fill his lungs with oxygen again. He wasn't sure what just happened; maybe he'd been transported to some distant galaxy or something equally unlikely. He managed to turn his head and look at Jim. His eyes were closed and he was still breathing heavily. A fine sheen of sweat covered his chest and Blair thought he'd never looked more beautiful.

Was it possible, that after all this time together…okay, so it wasn't a year yet, but still… was it possible that sex could get even better?

Wait.

What they'd just experienced was *not* sex. If sex were like what they'd just experienced, it would be the only thing anyone ever did. Ever. Eating, working, hell, even football would take a second seat.

"Stop thinking so hard," Jim suddenly said.

"The miracle is that I *can* think. I was pretty sure, for a moment there, that you'd melted every last brain cell encased within my skull."

"Ditto."

Blair somehow rolled his body over and propped his very heavy head on his hand. This gave him an excellent view of Jim, who hadn't moved and whose eyes were still closed.

"I guess," Blair said thoughtfully, "practice really does make perfect."

Jim smiled lazily as he said, "Well, we sure do practice a whole helluva lot, so reaching perfection was inevitable."

"Not a lot of practice lately, but evidently, it's just like riding a bike."

Jim's grin widened. Finally opening his eyes, he mirrored Blair's position. "I can't believe I'm closer to forty than I'd like to admit, and that was the best sex I've ever had. And considering that it's been the best between us from day one - that's saying something big."

Before Blair could say anything, the phone rang. Looking puzzled, Jim rolled over to pick it up, muttering, "Who'd be calling… Hello?"

Blair sat up, propped up a couple of pillows and was about to settle back when Jim shot straight up and said, "You sure, Tony? Has he incriminated her yet? Do we know where she is? What was he—"

Apparently it was Tony, and equally apparent was that there was a break in the case. Blair waited while Jim listened. There was nothing else he could do.

***

"Jesus," GM said as he swiped a hand over his face before reaching for his beer and drinking it down in one.

Simon closed his eyes in relief even as Joel said, "So it's over. It's really over."

"Well, they don't have Alexis yet, but Tony's confident that it's only a matter of time," Jim said from his position on the couch, Blair's hand in his own.

"Gerry has no idea where she is?" GM asked.

"He's still refusing to say anything and claiming that he simply wanted a souvenir and that's why he purchased the same kind of rifle that was made for the film. He's an idiot though. They've already gone into his computer and found copies of the emails."

"What I don't understand," Blair said, "is why he'd do it. He's not a killer; he's in the movies, for God's sake."

The statement was so at odds with everything that Jim couldn't help but laugh and it didn't take long for everyone to join in. But eventually, when they calmed, Blair persisted with his idea. "You know," he said. "I'm serious. As ridiculous as it sounded, the fact is, he's not the kind of man you'd go looking for if you wanted someone killed. You don't just run to your neighborhood prop man, you know?"

"You're right, of course," Jim agreed. "But it seems that Gerry was quite a gambler - and not a good one. He's thousands of dollars in debt and it would have been a fairly simple task for Barnes to find out and approach him." He rubbed the top of Blair's hand and added, "It's over, Chief. There's nothing she can do now and Tony will get Gerry to talk and they'll get Alexis."

He nodded and said, "At least we can relax tomorrow and finish this off without any worries."

"Amen," Simon said. "Amen."

***

GM didn't know what had awakened him, but he suddenly found himself sitting straight up in bed, eyes wide and mentally alert. He listened, heard nothing out of the ordinary, and yet, he got up. He pulled on his robe and, leaving the light off, walked stealthily out of his room and into the main part of the suite. He paused to give his eyes time to adjust even as he listened intently.

"It's just me."

The disembodied voice came from the windows and, now that GM knew there was no danger, he reached for the light and turned it on.

"No, keep it off…please?"

GM turned it off and made his way to the window. Blair was behind the thick, floor-to-ceiling drapes, which GM parted enough to slip in beside him. The windows in the suite were almost floor-to-ceiling, wide and beautiful, the city of Montreal laid out before the two of them. "You okay, kid?"

"Kid? You haven't called me that since…since I was a kid."

GM chuckled low even as he placed a hand on Blair's shoulder. "What's wrong, Boss?"

"I definitely prefer 'kid' - and nothing's wrong. I just couldn't sleep and didn't want to disturb Jim. He's exhausted - and I mean tired to the bone."

"Not surprising. But it's more than that, so cough it up, Blair."

Blair placed his hand on the window as he continued to stare at the lights of the city. "I can't believe Alexis would do all of this. No, scratch that. Of course I can believe it, I just…I just can't get a handle on it."

There was nothing GM could say to that, so he simply stayed close, connected by his hand.

***

An explosion of sound exited Jim's mouth, causing Blair to hand him a tissue and say, "God bless."

Bleary-eyed, Jim took the offered Kleenex, blew his nose and said, "I've never had a cold hit so fast. I was fine last night when we went to bed, for God's sake."

"Jim, the only surprise here is that it didn't hit sooner. Your body's been running on fumes for days. Now hang on while I get a few thing—"

"Got it here, Boss," GM said from the doorway of the bedroom. "I'm pretty sure they heard the sneezing in the lobby," he added as he walked toward Blair, a glass in one hand and pills in the other.

"Is that everything?" Blair said as he took the pills.

"Yup. Vitamin C, the Echinacea and the B-12."

"Good, good. Jim, take these and don't fight me on this, just do it."

Jim sneezed again…and held out his hand. After he'd swallowed them down, GM said, "Breakfast arrived just before I came in, so it's waiting."

Blair took Jim's arm and said, "Yum. I'm starved and need carbs this morning."

"You're not really going to race, you know," Jim complained.

"By the time you're satisfied with the scenes – I'll have run the damn thing twice."

"He's got you there," GM offered not so helpfully.

Jim's answer was a sneeze.

***

By the time the car arrived to take them to the shoot, the sun was just peeking over the tops of the trees. Jim was already feeling better – the prospect of finishing today without having to worry about anything *but* filming – going far in improving his condition. He was still congested, but not as bad as upon awakening. Now if only his ears would unplug, he'd be a very happy man.

The drive through the quiet streets of a mostly still-asleep Montreal was made in silence, what with Blair unashamedly dozing in the corner and GM buried in the newspaper. Jim found himself staring out the window. There was no way he could truly express his relief at knowing that at least the man hired to terrorize and kill Blair had been caught. Sure, until Alexis was behind bars as well, it wasn't, technically, over - but right now, the immediate danger to Blair had been removed and his body was experiencing the wonderful release of tension that knowledge provided.

While he would never have shared his fears with Blair, the fact was that since realizing that Alexis was behind everything, every single day had been lived as if walking on eggshells. He planned for the worse, imagined the worse, even dreamt the worse, and yet, each day would slip by – painlessly, uneventfully – and his fears would increase. Eventually, he'd built up this steadfast belief that Alexis had planned – whatever she planned – for this day, their final day of shooting, and thus, he'd been dreading it. But now, all his worrying was over. He smiled wryly at his reflection in the glass. Of course, Murphy's Law dictated that once the danger had been removed, the shoot would probably be a mess.

But movie-making messes he could handle. It was dead Blairs he had a problem with.

***

Simon and Joel stood on the sidelines watching Jim work with his crew. It was after two and the sun was finally where Jim wanted it to be as it beamed down through the opening above their heads. All the cutaway scenes and reaction shots were in the can so all that was left was the actual race - with its tragic, climatic conclusion. There was a certain tension among the crew, but Simon had been assured by Rob that it was normal. The scene was a rough one to shoot and the crew was heavily invested in both the movie *and* the story. They were feeling the emotions in spite of their experience.

The field was full of "other" Olympic events and there were fake TV cameras set up, as well as photographers – all intent on capturing what the world hoped would be the final gold medal run for Billy Sive. The stands were full, the "audience" having been prepped and readied earlier in the day. All of their regular extras had been scattered among the stands as they'd been all week, thus helping to ensure that everyone performed as directed.

"It looks so…real, doesn't it?" Joel suddenly asked. "I feel as though I'm actually *at* the '76 Games."

Simon nodded thoughtfully. "He's done a great job of recreating not only the look, but the *feel* of them. It's incredible."

"Did you notice that our son moved into the roll of Billy about thirty minutes ago?"

Smiling, Simon said, "I did. I never tire of watching him switch it on and off."

"I don't think he's even aware of it. The way his body changes, the lift of the chin, the way he looks at you, his mannerisms…."

"If we called him on it, he'd deny it."

Joel rolled back on his heels and said, grinning, "I know. We should tape it or something. Prove it to him. Prove that he can act the stuffing out of anyone."

"Good idea. The video camera's in the car. I'll go—"

"No, I'll go. I need to move, my legs are stiffening up." Joel rose to his feet, stretched a bit, squeezed Simon's shoulder, and moved off toward the exit. He wasn't worried about missing anything; it looked as though it would be a while before they were ready to shoot.

***

"Okay, you know how this is supposed to go and you know your mark, Chief."

Blair nodded as he continued to jog in place, keeping his limbs warmed up and limber. Because Jim was going for one long shot just prior to the shooting, Blair would actually run for almost 200 meters before falling to the ground (on a special cushioned mat that had been put into place and covered). The other actors would actually stop running after only a few meters as Billy would be pulling away and taking the lead, at which time the camera would be on him alone.

Jim gave Rob the signal and everyone took their places and stations. Blair walked over to his start mark (they'd be picking up the scene mid-race) a third of the way down the track. Jeff took his mark and gave Blair a small salute before closing his eyes and moving into his character.

Everyone was ready.

***

Jim, seated on the dolly, let his gaze rake over the entire field, his sentinel vision zeroing in on anything that might be amiss. It was times like this that he almost enjoyed having heightened senses. Almost. And yes, he'd have enjoyed them even more if not for the miserable cold.

Noting that everything was just as it should be, he gave a nod to Rob and, a moment later, a "filming" ping sounded, the runners began to move, and the cameras began to whir.

***

Blair was Billy and lost in the moment, but there was enough of Blair to know that he was approaching his mark, the spot where he'd fall. The squib hidden in his hair would be blown electronically and he'd spent hours practicing with it so the feel of it bursting wouldn't shock him and ruin the scene. He was so intent on the run, the emotions of running a planned race, that he almost missed the loud, "CUT!" He blinked several times, turned his head, saw the red light on, meaning that filming had ceased, and came to a slow stop. Chest heaving, he shook himself so that Billy moved to the background and Blair took over. He wondered what had fouled up this take and how many more times he'd have to do it. Arms limp at his side, he waited – something actors did more than anything else.

He watched as Jim jumped off the dolly and walked toward him.

"Sorry, Chief, we had two runners off their marks, we've got to go again," he said as he came abreast. "You okay?"

"Sure. I knew one take wasn't gonna happen, man. I'm good to go."

"All right then, let's do a reset." Jim slapped him on the back and turned away.

"Jim, how you feeling?"

Looking back over his shoulder, Jim smiled. "Still congested and my damn ears are still plugged, but I'll live."

"We'll take care of the congestion when we finish the scene, okay? Trust me."

Jim's grin widened. "I always do, Chief. I always do."

Smiling, Blair walked back to his start where Hair and Make-up waited to mop him down. He waited patiently while his face and hair were redone and spots on his body touched up with make-up. When the two artists were done, they gave Rob the thumbs up sign and everyone waited for Jim to give the signal. Which he did a moment later.

Blair took off.

***

Billy was in the zone. His body was his to command and it felt incredible. He was taking in air and his lungs were turning it to sheer power. The race was his – as long as he kept his concentration….

***

"Okay, fall behind now, I want the back-view," Jim said into the mike. The dolly slowed, allowing Blair to move ahead. Jim kept his eyes on the viewfinder, nodding in satisfaction as the captured scene matched the one that had been living in his head. Blair was almost at the first camera turn, at which time the dolly would stop. From that point on, the scene would be filmed from a distance. The second camera would roll then and capture the event from 'Harlan's' point of view, which would be edited into the film from camera one.

So far, Jim thought, everything was perfect.

***

She left her seat the moment the light on the camera went out. Everyone around her relaxed, a few others deciding now would be a good time for a run to the restrooms. She joined them, but when she reached the back aisle, she slipped away.

***

Simon leaned forward as Blair rounded the turn. The dolly with Jim aboard had stopped, as planned, and Simon could imagine how spectacular the run must look. Even from where he was, Blair as Billy was mesmerizing. The sound of the crowd behind him certainly made the whole thing feel and sound real. He almost felt like standing up and cheering Billy on. Next to him, Joel was busy videoing the scene.

It would only be a few more moments before….

***

Billy made the turn and knew he'd left the competition behind him, but he spared no time for a smile, choosing instead to keep his mind where it belonged, on his race.

***

Jim had his eye to the viewfinder even as he counted down to the instant Blair would go down, simulating the moment Billy is shot.

Five…four…three…two….

***

Pain exploded over his body and Billy stumbled and went down. His glasses flew from his head, hit the ground, bounced, one lens shattering.

Darkness descended, no last thoughts, no "what the fucks"….

***

Jim blinked rapidly, looked up and over the camera, and face creased with worry, yelled out a sharp, "CUT!"

There was something wrong. Something…very wrong.

"Jim?"

He paid no attention to Ralph, the dolly operator, as he jumped down and started to run toward Blair. He knew instinctively that he was the only person in the world who saw the blood - the real blood, spray up from Blair's back.

As he ran, he yelled over his shoulder, "Get the paramedics down here NOW!"

***

Simon got to his feet. Something was wrong…Jim had stopped the filming and was now running and yelling, several crew members on the field doing the same. The runners, led by Jeff, were also moving toward Blair - who was still down - and he shouldn't be.

He shouldn't be.

"Joel…."

The video camera fell to the ground at Simon's feet and one look at his partner told him something very bad had happened.

Moments later, both were running across the field.

***

GM waited near the spot where Blair would end the scene, a bottle of ice-cold water in his hand, ready for Blair's use. He watched him run towards him and marveled at the expression on his face, one so unlike his Blair. The concentration was all Billy Sive.

He figured Blair had to be close to the mark…and any minute now…the squib would burst and Blair would go….

What the hell?

Suddenly Blair's body jerked forward, about three feet too soon, his arms going wide, mouth opening in surprise. His glasses flew from his head and then he was going down -hard - and GM couldn't figure it out, this wasn't supposed to be how it….

He could see the blood now…spreading across the tank top…and there was no squib there….

No squib.

The bottled water dropped from his hand as he started to run.

***

Tony couldn't believe what he was seeing. But he understood it. He turned away and stared up at the stadium seats. Most of the crowd had no clue that what they were watching - was real - and thus, were still seated, but fairly quiet now, as instructed. He adjusted the mike in his ear and said tersely, "Chapeau, get your people into the stands immediately. We have a shooter. And lock this place down."

A crackling voice answered in the affirmative and men began to make their way up into the stands as even more moved to the exits.

This was going to be an horrendous task, but not beyond them. He didn't know how it had happened, unless Barnes had a back-up plan….

Damn it, he'd screwed up. He turned back toward the field, but stayed where he was. The paramedics were already moving and there was nothing he could do out there. But maybe he could keep the killer from escaping - maybe he could do that.

***

GM reached Blair first and immediately dropped to his knees beside him. He took in the wound even as his mind connected the dots and accepted the fact that Blair had been shot. He placed his hand over the wound and glanced up in time to see Jim skid to a stop and drop down next to him. His face was deadly pale, lips grey. He reached out and placed two fingers at Blair's carotid artery, felt the faint throbbing beneath his skin and said, "Paramedics - on their way - on their way."

GM nodded his understanding and said, "Jim, did you hear anything?"

Eyes fixed on Blair, Jim shook his head. "Ears…plugged…."

They were surrounded now, by crew and actors, and Jim's expression changed from one of worry to anger. He turned just enough to see the stands and narrowed his eyes. He zeroed in the crowd, looking for anything that didn't fit. They were still in their seats, unaware that something was seriously wrong, but that wouldn't last. Any minute they'd start to realize and then stand, and move. This was his only chance….

He searched quickly, and spotted the oddity almost immediately. Jerking his head around, he spotted one of Montreal's finest clearing a path for the paramedics. "Your microphone, give me your mike!"

Looking confused, the officer turned his head toward Jim, who wiggled bloodied fingers and repeated his demand. "Give. ME. Your. Microphone!"

The man removed his earpiece and connected power box and, with a last puzzled look at Jim, handed it over.

***

The crowd was starting to get restless and Tony could hear the murmurs starting up, the questions buzzing through the stands. It wouldn't be long now, he figured. He moved in, eyes scanning the rows of seats….

"Tony! I've got her!"

Jim's voice in his ear surprised the hell out of him. He reached up and pushed the earpiece a bit, cocking his head as he did so. "Repeat that, Jim?"

"I've got her! She's behind the dividing wall of the Boulevard Viau exit!"

He watched as, almost immediately, a sea of men began to converge on Alexis Barnes' location. A small part of his mind marveled at her total acceptance - after quickly checking for an escape and finding none - of the fact that she'd been caught. When Tony approached her, Jim turned away and back to Blair, only to discover that his hand was no longer helping to stem the flow of Blair's blood and that the paramedics were now trying to save his life. GM was behind him, his hand clenching the muscles of Jim's shoulder.

Jim's gaze drifted from two sets of capable hands working efficiently over Blair's body, to Blair's face…to the right cheek and dark lashes brushing the pale skin…to hair, loose and partially obscuring Blair's features…and then the paramedics were turning Blair over - ever so carefully but there was nothing of life in the body….

"His glasses…."

The voice, low and shocky, captured Jim's attention, and he glanced up to see Ben bending down and picking up Blair's broken glasses. Ben stared at them, at the bent, thin frames and then the pieces of shattered lens in his hand as he repeated, "His glasses…."

Why Jim's mind took him to the cover of one of his copies of The Front Runner, he couldn't say, but there it was, the blue background - pale blue - and the photo of a pair of broken glasses…Billy's broken glasses….

Panicked words spoken with clipped control brought Jim back in time to realize that the paramedics were losing Blair, that they'd started CPR. He gave a small shake of his head, because of course, they couldn't lose him. It wasn't possible. He glanced up in order to get confirmation from…anyone, and there was Ben, the glasses forgotten, tears streaming down his face. Next to him, Jeff watched the paramedics work, his own eyes filling.

Jim looked around frantically because someone had to know the truth, and his gaze rested on Simon, who was…sobbing…and then Joel, who looked as though he'd collapse any minute.

Okay, GM would know - GM would know that Blair was too strong….

Jim's heart sank. He glanced back up at GM, saw the lost expression, the total vulnerability of a man who was losing his child, and felt it, felt it pierce him like the sharpest sword.

No. No, this can't be happening, he thought. Not to Blair.

Wouldn't he know if this were it? Wouldn’t the connection they'd had from the moment they'd met, break? But he could feel it - sure, it was faint, but damn it, it was *there*.

"He's dead," someone whispered in a broken voice.

NO! Jim yelled in his mind. Suddenly angry, he literally shoved one of the paramedics aside and covered Blair's mouth with his own. He forced his breath into Blair, pushed it down with his will, waited for it to fill Blair's lungs, watched his chest rise as the lungs expanded with life, and he kept doing it, pausing only long enough for the other medic to do the heart compressions. Air, and more air, *his* air, *his* life, into Blair.

He sat back, hands on his thighs, bracing his upper body, and waited, watched the medic do his thing, but…there was no change, there was no…life.

He felt it then, felt the tenuous connection between them snap.

"NO!"

This time, he yelled it aloud even as he leaned down and pressed his hands on either side of Blair's face. "You're NOT leaving me!"

He didn't know what he could do, but their connection, it was so much more and he needed to, somehow, use it to bring Blair back. He prayed to whomever watched over sentinel experts who were jockeys-turned-actors and closed his eyes, using all his senses together to find that link, to recapture the end of the line, that thin, powerful line, that represented their connection….

***

Bright lights, whirling around him, in all colors of the rainbow, blue trees, blue sky; a forest of blue and in the middle of it - a sleek black cat.

Jim could feel its fur, the rippling muscles beneath the thick coat, and knew that it was he. Something moved in the shrubbery to his left and he caught a flash of something… something grey and white. A moment later, a wolf appeared.

Blue eyes stared at him from the fierce visage and Jim thought he saw a deep sadness within them. Before he could do anything, the wolf turned tail and started to lope away. Jim knew instinctively that if he let it leave, he would never see Blair again. That Blair would be lost to him forever.

He opened his mouth and out came the most chilling sound he'd ever heard - but it stopped the wolf.

It was now or never.

Jim started to run toward the wolf. His heart leapt into his throat when the wolf did the same. He didn't know what would happen when they met, but he took a leap of faith….

***

Jim blew air into Blair's mouth again and, this time, experienced a wild rushing to his head just moments before Blair started gasping for air and groaning. This time it was Jim who was pushed aside as the paramedics took over once again.

He felt GM's hands pulling him up and into his arms and, together, they watched as Blair was finally lifted and loaded onto the gurney. Simon, eyes on Blair, said, "Come on, let's go. They're taking him to the Royal Victoria Hospital."

Jim found himself unable to move and it took both Simon and GM to help him. Rob stepped up then and said, "Don't worry, Jim. I'll take care of everything. Just…don't worry."

Jim, numb now, managed a nod, his only thought that he should be riding with Blair - he should be *riding* with Blair. Why couldn't they have sent a regular sized ambulance? One that would accommodate both the paramedics *and* him?

The ambulance was moving off the field and Jim prayed that he hadn't just seen Blair alive – for the last time.

***

Jim rested his head back against the wall and thanked God that his ears were still plugged. He knew damn well that, otherwise, he'd be listening to everything going on in surgery, and that might have killed him. What he could hear was Tony's low voice explaining what had happened. Not that he needed to be told - he knew only too well.

Blair had been shot in the back.

By Alexis Barnes.

He tuned everything out….

***

"So you're saying that Foster had nothing to do with Barnes?" Simon asked, stunned.

"I'm afraid not. She never hired anyone, never intended to let anyone do it but herself," Tony responded.

"The car, what about the car?" Ben asked from where he sat next to Jeff.

"That was her, made up to look like a man. The cable at Madison Square Garden: her. She's been a part of the movie almost from day one, as an extra going under the name of Patricia Reynolds. Barnes murdered the real Reynolds - the LA police found her body two hours ago. In the freezer - in her home."

"Jesus," Jeff breathed out.

Tony looked at Simon and said, "I'm sorry, we should have - *I* should have - figured this out before…before it was too late."

"What about the emails?" Joel asked tonelessly.

"Foster sent them, and yes, he planned on killing Blair today." He shot a worried look at Jim before adding, "His motives were based on hatred and fear. He believed the movie was blasphemy and somehow, in his warped mind, he blamed Blair. He wanted to stop the movie - stop Blair - no matter what it took. He hates homosexuality, feared what the movie could do if were completed and released." He paused, lowered his head, unable to look Simon or Joel in the eye as he added, "His hotel room was full of photos of Blair. He's a very…ill man. Confused, full of hate, as much for himself as anything - or anyone - else."

Before anyone could respond, a man appeared in the doorway of the small waiting room. "Simon - Banks?" he asked in halting English.

Simon rose quickly to his feet even as Jim's eyes shot open. "I'm Banks."

"Parlez-vous Francais?"

"Oui."

The man then proceeded to identify himself as Blair's surgeon and, while Simon translated, he informed them that Blair was in critical condition. They'd removed the bullet, which had lodged in his left lung, and Blair was now on a respirator. The doctor quickly reassured Simon that the move to the respirator had been made in order to remove the stress from the damaged lung. His expression grew more serious as he added that the next twenty-four hours would be critical. Simon didn't have to explain what that meant to anyone. It was self-explanatory.

End part 5


	6. Chapter 6

Jim walked the hall outside the CC unit, no longer able to just sit. They'd been told that once Blair had been moved out of Recovery and into CC, they'd be able to see him, but so far, no one had come out to allow that to happen - and it was driving him crazy.   
  
Everyone had moved up to the new waiting room and were now avoiding watching the small set above their heads. Every channel available had the same story to tell; the shooting being the number one ticket item for the news media. It seemed that "Life imitating art" was more than the media could resist.  
  
"Here," GM said as he stepped up to Jim. "You could use this."  
  
Jim stopped his pacing to stare down at the cup in GM's hand. "I'm fine," he finally said. "Just fine."  
  
GM pressed the cup into Jim's hand. "You need this. Drink up."  
  
Realizing that there was no point in fighting him, Jim took a sip. Satisfied, GM leaned against the wall, his eyes on the automatic double doors responsible for keeping the two of them away from Blair.   
  
Jim finished the coffee, crinkled up the cup and tossed it in the trash. Then he got a good look at GM. Shaking his head, he smiled wryly and said, "You might have needed that more than me, GM."  
  
"Drowning in the stuff."  
  
Jim walked over to him and said, his voice soft, "You okay?"  
  
"I'm as good as you," GM said, his eyes never leaving the double doors.  
  
"Huh-oh."  
  
GM smiled at that, but continued to watch the doors that still refused to open to them. Jim followed his gaze and finally said, "We have this. We have hope. That's more than Harlan and John Sive had."  
  
GM broke his lock on the doors then, turned his blue-eyed gaze to Jim. "Hope?"  
  
Jim nodded. "Hope."  
  
***  
  
The minutes dragged on and somehow, Simon and Joel ended up in the hall with Jim and GM. It was almost as if by ganging up on the door, by pooling their needs, they could force them to swish open. By some miracle, less than ten minutes after joining Jim and GM, the doors did, indeed, swing open and a nurse stepped out and addressed them.   
  
"Relatives of Blair Sandburg?" she asked, her accent thick and lyrical.  
  
"Yes, here," Simon said.  
  
If she thought it strange that a very tall black man should claim to be related to her patient, she hid it well. "You may see him now, but *only* family members."  
  
Simon put his hand on Joel's arm even as he indicated Jim with a nod of his head. "We're his fathers but—"  
  
"I'm sorry, only immediate family. No exceptions."   
  
Jim glanced over at GM, caught the pallor and grim expression, and said without thinking, "GM, go on in."  
  
For a moment, no one moved and then Jim shot an apologetic look at Simon and said the obvious. "Simon. Joel…GM is Blair's biological father."  
  
***  
  
"How long have you known?" Simon asked from his seat back in the waiting room. He was sitting forward, arms resting on his thighs, hands tightly clasped.  
  
"A few weeks ago - and no, I'm not going to say anything more because it's his story to tell." It was said softly, no censure implied.  
  
Joel suddenly got to his feet. "I'm going to have a talk with the doctor, I'll be back."  
  
Simon and Jim watched him walk out and, as he disappeared around the corner, Simon swiped a hand over his face. "Damn, all this time…all this time."  
  
"He doesn't feel he has a right to be more to Blair than he is, Simon," Jim whispered.  
  
Simon lifted his head to make eye contact with Jim. "Well, that's something we'll have to change, isn't it?"  
  
More relieved than he could have expressed, Jim nodded.   
  
Suddenly Simon grinned. "I don't think three fathers is too much, do you?"  
  
"Not for Blair," Jim agreed. "He could probably use a couple more, in fact."  
  
The grin faded. "Multiple fathers couldn't save him…."  
  
***  
  
GM didn't understand. Couldn't comprehend the too still and very pale man in the bed. There was no resemblance between him and Blair. None at all. There was no life, other than that represented by the whoosh and beeps of the machines on each side of the bed.   
  
This wasn't right.   
  
It wasn't right that hate should be the reason his Blair was lying stretched out on a hospital bed, still, silent, pale, so much closer to death than life.  
  
He held Blair's hand, his thick, rough fingers rubbing gently, almost as if trying to rub life into the lax hand. "I should have told you. Should have told you."  
  
***  
  
Joel walked back into the waiting room and announced, "We're not going to have an 'immediate' family issue from this point on." He sat down on the other side of Jim and added, "You and GM can stay with him, Jim, and the rest of us can cycle in and out."  
  
Shocked to his core, Jim reared back and said, "You shouldn't have done that, Joel. You and Simon—"  
  
"Will see him just fine," Simon jumped in to say, his admiration for his partner evident in his expression. "Don't worry."  
  
"They'll be ushering GM out in a minute, change of shift, but then we can all go in," Joel said with a reassuring squeeze to Jim's arm.  
  
Jim simply closed his eyes and, grateful, rested his head back against the wall.  
  
***  
  
The shift change had been completed quietly and efficiently with Blair's vitals logged by the new NIC, who then let GM and Jim into the cubicle. Finally, Jim was able to see Blair, to sit beside him, to pour more strength into him.  
  
GM sat on the other side of the narrow bed, both Simon and Joel having just gone in search of food and more coffee for everyone. Watching the machine breathe for his son, GM suddenly said, "I'm so angry and I'm thinking it can't be good for Blair. He's so intuitive, you know?"  
  
Eyes on Blair's face, Jim asked, "Angry?"  
  
"That hate did this. Not revenge – but hate. A warped, evil hatred that I can't begin to understand, which is exactly how I felt after finishing The Front Runner." He turned tortured eyes up to Jim. "She didn't love her father, you know. Hated him, actually."  
  
"That's not the impression Blair left me with when he told me about his…engagement."  
  
"He never understood the relationship," GM said even as he gave Jim a wry smile. "Too innocent. Alexis and her father…they used each other, each wielding their own type of power. Anything he had, she wanted, and anything she had – he wanted. Alexis was wealthy in her own right, thanks to a trust fund left to her by her mother and I think if she could have destroyed her father, she would have."  
  
"Then why go after Blair? He did for her, what you're saying she wanted to do. This makes no sense now."  
  
"You just explained it," GM said sadly. "He did what she'd been unable to do. In addition, he'd said no to her. I think her hatred's been building for quite awhile. A hatred steeped in a warped kind of love. And of course, he had no right to destroy her father, so in a weird way - she did it for him."  
  
Jim stroked Blair's unresponsive hand as he said, "Blair's always telling me that there's a thin line between love and hate. Now I see what he meant."  
  
"I'm betting she's sitting in her jail cell right now, not even caring that she was caught, because as far as she's concerned, she's done what she wanted - needed - to do."  
  
"Oh, I suspect she's got her lawyers working on getting her out," Jim said, his voice cold and oddly threatening.  
  
Alarmed by the tone, GM sat up straighter and said, warning touching his voice, "Jim, you need to think about Blair and what's best for him and not--"  
  
Eyes narrowed and glittering dangerously, Jim said, "If she walks - for any reason - she won't have a chance to finish what she started, GM. Do you understand?"  
  
GM glanced down at his son…and slowly nodded. He understood all too well. But if worse came to worse, Jim wouldn't need to worry – Alexis would be taken care of.   
  
***  
  
Tony spotted Jim immediately and made his way over to the table. The cafeteria wasn't too crowded in spite of it being the lunch hour. Jim was hunched over a cup of coffee, looking for all the world like a man lost. He supposed he shouldn't be surprised – Blair's condition hadn't changed and he was still unconscious.  
  
Tony stopped half way and decided Jim needed food, which was why Simon had sent him down here to begin with. He made a turn and headed for the food line. Ten minutes later, he had a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon, sourdough toast and potatoes. In addition, two glasses of orange juice and more coffee.  
  
He made his way back to Jim's table and, after setting the food down and disposing of the tray, he sat down. Jim hadn't said a work, hadn't even looked up, so Tony shoved the plate over and said, "If Blair knew you were wallowing instead of eating and maintaining yourself for him, he'd give you hell."  
  
Proud of the not-so-subtle admonishment, Tony took one of the oj's and drank it down. Jim was staring at him, so he studiously ignored the look while grabbing a piece of toast. He dunked it in his coffee and bit into it, fully aware that Jim was still staring. Finally, Jim lifted the fork and started to eat the eggs. Tony gave a silent "Yoohaw" and continued to eat his toast.  
  
***  
  
"Feeling better?"  
  
Jim pushed the now empty plate away and nodded. "Yeah. I suppose I should thank you."  
  
"Nah, what are friends for if not to kick ass when ass is in need of kicking?"  
  
A small smile showed up on Jim's face and Tony gave himself a mental pat on the back. Man, he was good.  
  
Jim leaned his arms on the table and once again enfolded the coffee cup within his fingers. Eyes on the cup, he said, "I don't think I've ever been this afraid, Tony. I don't know what I'll do if—"  
  
"Don't go there, Jim. He's going to wake up and the next thing you know, you'll be finishing the movie and then walking down the red carpet at the Academy Awards show."  
  
"That's a bit more imaginative than I would have though you possessed, Tony. And I mean the Academy Awards because Blair *has* to wake up and be all right. He has to."  
  
The last part was said so quietly, Tony almost missed it. He decided to concentrate on the movie. "I'm right. The movie is spectacular and it will win. I'm sure of it. Call it a detective's intuition."  
  
"The movie will never be finished. The studio is, even as we speak, deciding what to do and I'm damn sure the decision will be to shelve it. Studios don't sit on controversial, iffy movies while one of the stars recuperates. They might for a Tom Cruise or a Bruce Willis – hell, even for me, *if* it were one of my mega-money-making action flicks and I was the one who needed to recuperate. But for The Front Runner? No way. Not going to happen."  
  
Truly shocked and alarmed, Tony leaned forward. "But that's not…they…they just… They can't, Jim. The Front Runner is a magnificent film, damn it. And it *will* make a difference. They can't shelf it."  
  
"They will. It's not called 'show business' for nothing, Tony. If Blair were to wake up in the next hour, it would still be upwards of eight weeks recuperation before he'd be cleared to go back to filming, and they're not going to hold everyone's contracts for that length of time for a movie like this. They've got to call it a loss and collect the insurance. They probably figure they'll actually make more this way."  
  
"So that's it, then? All your work, the incredible performances, the risks, all for nothing?"  
  
Jim didn't need to answer - Tony had just said it all.  
  
***  
  
It had been thirty-six hours since the shooting, thirty hours since Blair had come out of surgery - and there was no change. Jim was numb inside and out and totally shut off from the rest of his friends, the hospital, everything. Except the man who lay so unresponsive in the bed before him.   
  
He'd known about the news media camped outside the hospital when Blair had been wheeled into surgery, but was unaware of the fact that they were still there. He was also in ignorance of the controversy and overwhelming publicity surrounding the shooting. Although, in all fairness, in the back of his mind, he had to know some of it. He was in the business and an actor shot while filming such a controversial movie would be big news. Especially if that actor was also a popular athlete.   
  
Once he'd returned upstairs, Jim had immediately gone back into Blair's room and had been there ever since - completely unaware of a talk between Tony and Simon and the fact that Simon was now putting into motion everything necessary to give control of The Front Runner to him.   
  
Not that Jim would care - because at this point, only Blair's condition mattered. He just wanted Blair to wake up - to open those incredible blue eyes - to know him. He wanted Blair's expression to go from confusion to recognition. He wanted those handsome features to soften as he whispered Jim's name…and his hand squeezed Jim's.  
  
That's all he wanted.   
  
***  
  
GM walked out of CC and into the hall where he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Hope, which had fueled him, was slowly flowing out of him as each minute ticked by and Blair didn't waken. He could see the dawning truth in each nurse that walked in and took Blair's vitals. He could see it in the doctor, whose expression grew more grim each hour.  
  
He was going to lose Blair and he'd never been able to call him son to his face.   
  
Damn, he had so many fucking regrets…so many.  
  
He would have loved to have held Blair - father to son. To see acceptance and forgiveness in Blair's eyes. Hell, at this point, he'd be happy to see hate if only Blair were conscious.  
  
"GM, are you all right?"  
  
The concerned question came from Joel, who'd materialized next to him. "I must really be out of it, I never heard you approach," he murmured.  
  
"Understandable."  
  
GM turned to look at Joel and his heart nearly stopped. The bigger man looked like hell warmed over. His skin was pasty grey, eyes sunken, and the pain radiated from him like a fever. GM gripped Joel's hand tightly. "Do you think…do you think Blair ever understood how much he means to all of us, Joel?"  
  
Eyes suddenly brimming, Joel shook his head.   
  
GM looked away. "No, he wouldn't, would he?"  
  
Joel, suddenly discovering that he needed the wall to hold him up, joined GM in leaning against it. "I'd give anything," he whispered, "to have told him that I loved him one more time."  
  
For some reason, Joel's words angered him. He felt the emotion rip through him as he understood that they'd all let Blair go. They were already accepting his death. He pushed himself from the wall.   
  
"He's not dead, Joel. He's not dead." He grabbed Joel's arm and, together, they walked back into CC and into the small cubicle.   
  
"Jim," GM whispered. "You wouldn't let him go at the stadium, you brought him back. I saw you do it. Maybe now, here, he's just lost. But he's *not* dead, damn it, and we're all acting as though…as though…."  
  
He suddenly couldn't finish. The machines, Jim's stricken face, Joel's gasp of pain, all closed in on him. He walked over to the other side of the bed and placed his hand against Blair's cheek. "He's not…gone, he's here. He's…here."  
  
"I know, GM. I know. I think…he's just tired. He's here, but he needs rest, that's all. When he's ready, he'll wake up." Jim said the words, but his voice was without inflection.  
  
"You don't believe that. You think you've lost him. I was wrong, he's not the one who's lost - you are."  
  
Jim's head shot up and startled blue eyes met GM's angry ones. "He…you…you—"  
  
"Jim, you know you brought him back, so why the loss of faith now? Why have all of us given up? Is it because the doctors gave us some kind of stupid time limit? Since when has Blair ever marched to someone else's clock? Tell me that."  
  
A spark of life flared up in Jim's eyes and he sat forward eagerly. "You're right. Of course, you're right. It doesn't matter what the doctor says – this is Blair we're talking about. He'll wake up when he and his body are damn well ready."  
  
"Now you're talking. Our Blair knows what's best for his body."  
  
"Yeah," Joel said with a soft, 'I get it now' smile. "That's our Blair all over."  
  
The three men fell silent as they continued to smile.  
  
Four hours later, Blair woke up.  
  
***  
  
Jim would never forget the moment Blair returned to them. He'd see those few minutes for the rest of his life and would be able to call up the emotions they engendered with ease. Heart feeling lighter than it had since realizing Blair had been shot, giving over all of his faith and trust to Blair, he'd been relaxed in the chair, almost ready to nod off when he'd felt the pressure on his hand.  
  
The hand holding Blair's.  
  
Startled, he'd sat up and glanced down – to see Blair's pale fingers gripping with amazing strength, all things considered.   
  
"Blair? Can you hear me? If you can, squeeze my hand again, okay?"  
  
In retrospect, that had been a ridiculous thing to say because Blair was still squeezing when he'd said it. But by some miracle, his partner had somehow managed to squeeze even tighter.   
  
"Okay, great. We've done the whole hand squeezing thing, and that's super, but I have to tell you, I'd feel a helluva lot better if you'd open your eyes. More impressed too."  
  
At that point, Blair began to fight the respirator - which alerted the nursing staff.  
  
***  
  
The respirator was gone and an awake but confused Blair was looking around the room. Relief flooded through Jim as Blair's gaze came to rest on him. Blair smiled - ever so faintly, and said a weak, "Jim?"  
  
It was the best moment Jim could remember. Unfortunately, at that point, he was forced to leave so the doctor could run a series of tests - all of which would undoubtedly leave Blair wishing he'd stayed asleep awhile longer.  
  
Of course, once out, Jim had no trouble finding something to do, namely letting everyone know the good news. The relief that had passed through the small waiting room had been almost visible to Jim and was most definitely visible on the faces of everyone there. Ben took it upon himself to deal with the press, who were still camped downstairs, and less than thirty minutes after Blair had squeezed Jim's hand – his recovery was on almost every station. But for once, Jim understood.  
  
Miracles just weren't that commonplace anymore.  
  
***  
  
 _One week later_  
  
Jim walked down the hospital hallway, whistling. Today, he was taking Blair home - as in Malibu. In just a few minutes, they'd be transferring Blair to a private airport via ambulance and then onto the private jet. Of course, Blair wasn't too happy about the ambulance part of the equation, insisting to anyone who'd listen that he could ride in a car, but the fact was – he couldn't. He was still incredibly weak and even the short trip from his hospital room to the ambulance would be made via a gurney and not a wheelchair.   
  
Jim turned the corner to Blair's room and felt like patting himself on the back. He managed, somehow, to work a few miracles in the hours since the doctor had okayed the transference. After all, he was bringing a man recuperating from a gunshot wound home, and that meant arranging for a private nurse - in spite of GM's insistence that he could take care of Blair - and all the necessary equipment, including a large (large enough for two) hospital bed. But he'd succeeded in getting it all done and the house was ready for them.  
  
Now, just before pushing open the door to Blair's private room, he couldn't believe he was this excited. He felt like a kid on Christmas morning.   
  
They were going home.   
  
***  
  
"Okay, that's it, careful there, don't bump into…yeah, that's it." GM continued to walk backward, guiding the ambulance personnel as they maneuvered the gurney up the steps and into the plane. Once safely inside, they rolled it over to the long couch and, within a few moments, had Blair safely settled on the sofa and strapped in. They quickly exited to several "Thank-yous" and the door was closed. Jim moved to the wide lounge chair next to the sofa and strapped himself in while GM, Simon and Joel did the same. The only person missing was Tony, who'd finally returned to New York a few days earlier, with promises that *when* The Front Runner was finished, he'd be invited to attend the Academy Awards ceremony and thus collect his bet in person.  
  
Now, as the plane slowly moved onto the runway, Jim took Blair's hand and asked, "How do you feel? You okay?"  
  
"Jim, I’m fine. Stop asking, okay?"  
  
"Am I being—"  
  
"Mother-hennish? Yeah, just a bit. And considering that all four of you - five before Tony left - are doing it, you could say I'm being hen-pecked to death." Blair grinned.  
  
"Hey, you know us peacocks - all those feathers," Jim said, grinning.  
  
"Peahen, Jim. You're a peahen, hence the mother-henning."  
  
"Putz."  
  
"Yep."  
  
***  
  
Blair slept through most of the flight, waking only long enough to take some soup and nibble on a few crackers before heading back to dreamland. While he slept and the plane made its speedy way to the US, Simon wondered how to tell Jim what he'd done. Since the shooting, if Jim had given any thought to the movie, it hadn't been obvious and Simon sincerely doubted that it had made an appearance in Jim's mind in the last week, either. For Blair, the last week had been spent regaining strength *and* trying to regain his memory of the days before the shooting, but so far, said memories had proved to be elusive. Personally, Simon thought that was a good thing. Who needed to remember that kind of pain – especially when there were so many others who would do it for him?  
  
"When are you planning on breaking the news to Jim?"  
  
The question came from Joel, whom Simon had thought was napping.   
  
"I don't know, all right?"  
  
"May I suggest you chicken out and tell Blair instead? Then he can pass it onto Jim with a more positive spin, if you know what I mean."  
  
"That would make me a gutless, spineless—"  
  
"Would that be…goober, Simon?" Jim suddenly asked as he swiveled his chair around to face the two men. "A gutless, spineless goober?"  
  
"Goober sounds kind of…harmless, actually," Simon said with a nervous grin.  
  
"Why don't you just tell me what you don't want to tell me and we can end this here and now? If I don't like it – well, we're in a plane and I could conceivably drop you—"  
  
"Blair wouldn't like that," Joel reminded with a mischievous grin and a finger waggle.  
  
"Good point. I'll make it look like an accident."   
  
"This is a very encouraging method of inspiring an individual toward a confession."  
  
"It's painless – or so I've been told," Jim said with a straight face.  
  
Simon closed his eyes and pinched his nose. After a moment, he looked at Jim and said, "Iboughtthefilm."  
  
Jim stared at him, his face scrunched up in concentration. It soon became obvious he might not have completely understood Simon. He cocked his head, rubbed his chin, bit down on his lower lip and finally said, "You…bought the film?"  
  
Simon nodded rather sheepishly.  
  
"I…see. You-bought-the-film."  
  
Simon hurried into an explanation, as much to save his life as to reassure - somebody - of something. "Cyclops wasn't a tough sell, Jim. Especially since I offered more than they'd receive from the insurance when they shut it down, which, of course, they were planning to do. Rob has the core crew on contract so everyone is happy. When Blair recovers – you finish it and Cyclops will distribute."  
  
***  
  
Words tried to form in his mind, but it was obvious he was suffering from a form of aphasia. Jim wondered if maybe he could send a message via eye-blinking. The funny thing was he hadn’t given the movie a second thought since the shooting, and yet, now, hearing that he’d be able to finish it…if he could finish it…he experienced a very freeing sense of utter relief.  
  
Now all he had to do was get behind the camera and watch Blair - as Billy - get shot down in the middle of a gold medal race…again.  
  
He turned away from Simon and Joel to stare at his sleeping partner.  
  
If.  
  
Big if.  
  
***  
  
“Comfortable?” Jim asked as he tucked the blanket under the mattress and then tweaked one of Blair’s blanketed toes.  
  
“So help me….”  
  
“Yep, you’re comfortable. Bug in a rug. GM’s getting dinner and we thought we’d all eat in here, if that’s all right with you?”  
  
Blair gave a helpless shake of his head and patted the bed, signifying that Jim should sit. When he did, Blair said, “You guys have got to get over this whole thing. I’m fine, you heard the doctor. I’m better than he expected after the flight. Now, we’re home, we’re settled in, and I’ll be up and around in no time. I need you guys to just…you know, do your thing and…well, just kind of….”  
  
“Leave you alone?” Jim hazarded even as his lips twitched upward.  
  
“Well, not *alone*, but yes, alone. Let’s just get back to as close to normal as a hospital bed in our bedroom can allow, okay?”  
  
Jim gave him a wicked grin. “It’s a damn comfortable bed – and please note the extra width.”  
  
“Oh, believe me, I noticed. Maybe we should keep it.”  
  
Jim laughed, a true laugh, the kind that came with being home and knowing that things were finally moving in the right direction. Blair just watched, thoroughly enjoying the sound.  
  
***  
  
 _Three weeks later_  
  
“Everything looks good, Blair. You're healing nicely and I think it's a safe bet that I'll be removing these stitches on time." Dr. Abbott re-bandaged the wound, dumped the old dressing in the hazardous material container along with his gloves and asked, “How’s your energy level?”  
  
“Good. I’m moving around the house just fine, but rarely without someone nearby, which is driving me batty. You’d think I was a toddler and they have to follow along in case I start to topple over.”  
  
“And you’re surprised – why?” Abbott asked as he made a final notation in Blair’s chart.  
  
Blair sighed. “Because I’m *fine*,” he said almost petulantly.  
  
John Abbott looked up at that and, after putting the chart on the counter, said, “Blair, what happened to you was a very traumatic event for your family and friends to witness. You don’t remember it, which is a blessing, but at the same time, it’s shielding you from understanding what they went through." He sat down on the stool next to the examining bed. "They came very close to losing you in a pretty horrific manner and I'm not surprised that they're being a bit overprotective. They got their Billy back, so let them coddle, all right?"  
  
Jesus, he hadn't thought of it like that, but John was right. For some reason, he'd never put what had happened into the context of the story they'd been telling, and yet…damn, he was an idiot. He still might not remember what happened but he knew the book - which meant that other than the dying part - Jim, GM, Simon and Joel had been forced to watch him go down in almost the exact same way Billy had.  
  
He shivered with the realization of what it must have been like because he could so easily imagine how he'd have felt if it had been Jim.   
  
Suddenly cold, he reached carefully for his shirt and slipped it on.   
  
"I'll send Nancy in with your wheelchair and I'll see you again in three weeks for removal of the stitches. In the meantime, keep up the good work and don't get cocky and try to do too much, all right?"  
  
Still reeling from his 'epiphany', he mutely nodded and continued to button his shirt.  
  
A few minutes later, the nurse arrived and he moved to sit down in the chair.   
  
***  
  
GM waited restlessly for Blair's visit with the doctor to end. He knew Blair was doing well but that didn't stop the unreasonable worry that something might go wrong. He'd be pacing if alone, but unfortunately, the reception room was full.   
  
The last three weeks had managed to be both the best and the worst for him as he'd struggled with the question of how to tell Blair the truth about their relationship while taking care of him. Simon and Joel had agreed, against their better judgment, to let him tell Blair in his own way and his own time but that hadn't stopped them from lecturing him every chance they got. Only Jim seemed to understand the fear he lived with every day; that once Blair knew the truth - he'd want GM out of his life. But today, he was about to find out how honorable he was because a mental promise had been made when Blair had awakened four weeks ago - namely to tell Blair. He'd later narrowed the telling down to today, following the doctor's visit.  
  
He was now minutes away from "after the doctor's visit".   
  
Scratch that. It was now 'after the doctor's visit' because Blair was being wheeled over to him right now.   
  
Swallowing the bile that threatened to overcome him, GM plastered on a sick grin and asked, "So, how are we?"  
  
"Can't speak for you, but I have a creature growing inside my chest - but the doctor doesn't seem worried. As long as I'm alone when it decides to pop out, all should be safe."  
  
"Ah."  
  
Damn, he should have come up with something else to say because the suspicious look Blair was giving him told him that his response meant something was up which of course, it was. He took over the pushing of the chair and got Blair out of the office and the building. Once at the car, Blair got up and slid into the passenger side, only wincing once, while GM folded up the chair and put it in the back. He was acutely aware that Blair was watching him and, as he got behind the wheel, he decided being honorable to oneself and one's promises was highly overrated.  
  
"How 'bout we head over to The King's Head for some fish and chips?" Blair suddenly suggested.  
  
"I don't think that's such a good idea, Boss. I should get you home."  
  
"GM, I'm fine, we have the chair, we're both hungry, so let's do it."  
  
He risked a quick glance to his right, saw the stubborn lift to Blair's chin and figured he was going to lose this battle. On the other hand, he wasn't about to do any confessing in a public restaurant.   
  
Which was why, fifteen minutes later, he was wheeling Blair inside the English pub.  
  
***  
  
"Oh, man, this is so good," Blair murmured appreciatively. He cut into another piece of the lightly battered fish, dipped it in the tartar sauce and sighed happily. "Best fish and chips this side of the Atlantic."  
  
GM shrugged as he dug into the "mash" part of his bangers and mash. "Seems to me I remember your saying the same thing about that little fish place in Dana Point."  
  
"I stand corrected. This is the best British version of fish and chips this side of the Atlantic. Feel better now?"  
  
GM couldn't help the grin. "Much."  
  
"Good."   
  
They finished off their meal with little chatter and it took all of GM's willpower not to order another beer - or two. When the waitress came over to take their now empty plates away, Blair ordered the apple pie with custard along with coffee, which GM quickly changed to milk. As she walked away, Blair said, "I could have had the coffee, you know."  
  
"No, you couldn't. No caffeine for another week."  
  
"Bastard," Blair said good-naturedly.  
  
They were in one of the larger booths in the back room, due to Blair's chair, and the tables nearby were empty. GM gave brief thought to telling Blair now, but squashed the idea down without so much as a twinge of guilt. Unfortunately for him, Blair had other ideas.  
  
"So," he said after taking a sip of his water. "You going to tell me what's been bothering you for the last three weeks? And which seems to be coming to a head now?"  
  
It had to be a sign. He was definitely supposed to be honorable.  
  
"I don't know what you mean, Boss."  
  
Or not.  
  
"Liar. And as I always tell Jim, why not just make it easy on yourself and tell me. I'm going to wheedle it out of you one way or the other, anyway. If you just spit it out now, think how much pain you'll be avoiding."  
  
GM searched his soul for an answer to what he should do, but all that came to him was a question, so he asked it. "What if the problem could ruin lives, Blair? What if…it could ruin yours?"  
  
Blair's eyes narrowed as he regarded GM. After a moment, he asked, "Am I dying?"  
  
"What? No, of course not."  
  
"Is Jim leaving me for a twenty-year-old surfer?"  
  
"Blair, you're being ridiculous."  
  
"God, you called me Blair, which explains everything. You're my father!"  
  
It had been said humorously, but that didn't negate the fact that it had been said - okay, not by him, but still, it was out there now and GM was left speechless. He found himself unable to do anything but sit and stare, unblinking, mouth slightly open. When he continued unable to respond, the expression on Blair's face changed - drastically. The humor drained away to be replaced by dawning comprehension.   
  
GM had always been proud of Blair's intelligence but at this moment, he could have wished for a son with the brain power of a horseshoe.  
  
"GM?" Blair whispered, his eyes wide with shock. "Say something - anything."  
  
GM struggled to find the words to confirm, to explain - or to lie; to deny.  
  
"Jesus." All the color drained from Blair's face as he stared at GM. "Jesus," he said again.  
  
Seeing the pain on his son's face, all thought of denial flew out the window. Courage flowed back into his veins, along with a healthy dose of pride that the young man across from him was, indeed, his child. No matter what happened now, he had that knowledge and he had the last twenty-something years.  
  
"I've been trying to find a way to tell you since the shooting, and weirdly enough, I'd planned on doing it today. Just not like this."  
  
Blair tore his gaze from GM’s face to look around for their waitress. Spotting her, he waved her over. He took out his wallet, slipped his credit card out and, when she arrived, said, "I'd like to pay now, please?"   
  
Hearing the urgency in the simple request, she accepted the card and hurried off only to return a few moments later with the bill and credit card slip. He added a healthy tip, signed it, took the middle copy and his card, thanked her and, after slipping his wallet into his jacket pocket, pushed away from the table and said, "Let's go, GM."  
  
His heart plummeted but he got up, positioned himself behind Blair and pushed him through the restaurant and out onto the sidewalk. He was about to head for the intersection to their right so they could cross the street to the parking lot, but Blair said, "How 'bout we head over to the bluff and take temporary possession of a bench under a tree?"  
  
It was said mildly, but GM heard the undercurrent of tension in Blair's voice. Instead of responding, he simply turned the chair and headed toward the Santa Monica bluff that overlooked the ocean. They were only a short distance from Ocean Street so it was a simple matter to push Blair to the crosswalk at the intersection of Santa Monica and Ocean, wait for the light, and then across the street, which brought them to the bluffs and Palisade's Park. GM spotted an unoccupied bench in the shade and headed straight for it. Knowing that Blair would be more comfortable remaining in the wheelchair, he positioned him so that he had a nice view of ocean below, while at the same time, could talk easily to GM on the bench.  
  
Once they were both settled, Blair said, "Figured this would allow us some privacy."  
GM nodded but didn't say anything. He wasn't sure how to start so thought maybe he'd better let Blair just ask his questions.  
  
"You've kept this secret for awhile, I assume?"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, I have. I never… in all honesty, I never intended on telling you. You were happy, Simon and Joel were - are - great parents and I couldn't see a need to change anything. I was happy, I was with you, could take care of you, protect you, and that was enough."  
  
"So what…my getting shot changed all of that?"  
  
GM shifted his gaze from Blair to the grass at their feet and nodded.  
  
"Why don’t I believe that? I've had close calls before and you were never moved to confess our…relationship. What was so different this--"  
  
"They'd only allow immediate family into see you, Blair," GM interrupted. He could hear the desperation in his voice and he hated it.  
  
"So you what, just came right out and--"  
  
"No, Jim told them." The words were barely out of his mouth when he realized they were a mistake.   
  
"Jim?" Blair asked in a deceptively easy tone.  
  
"He…guessed, Blair. During the shoot. And don't get angry with him for not telling you. It wasn't his story to tell and he understood that. But he's responsible for helping me see that you deserved to know the truth, to know who your father was."  
  
"Simon and Joel?" Blair asked, his voice tight.  
  
"Learned for the first time in the hospital. They've been nagging me to tell you since we brought you home."  
  
"I - see."  
  
GM leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs. He gazed out at the ocean and said, "I had no right to come forward and claim my paternity, Blair. I deserted your mother when I found out she was pregnant. I don't expect you to embrace me with open arms or to suddenly start calling me 'dad', but you have a right to know what happened, about what a miserable son-of-a-bitch your father was." He glanced sideways at Blair and added, "But I did love your mother, Blair."  
  
***  
  
Blair stared at the man who was now claiming to be his father, and as his words hit the air, Blair could only wonder why he hadn't seen the truth all alone. Hell, they even looked alike - same blue eyes, curly hair and build.   
  
While his…father…told him about running to Canada, he tried to dissect his feelings, the ones he'd always had for GM, and thought that maybe, in a way, he'd known the truth all along. Not on a conscious level, of course, but certainly somewhere in the deepest recesses of his psyche.  
  
"…and I couldn't leave - not once I'd seen you. So I stayed out of sight when Naomi was there, made sure she never saw me, and then she was gone and I never told her…but there you were, and no matter what I'd done in the past, I could watch over you now, make sure nothing happened to Naomi's child. It was the only thing I could do for her - for you…."  
  
GM's voice trailed off and Blair realized he was done, his story told. He tried to feel something - anger, relief, happiness, anything, but there was nothing there. He could feel the thin rays of sun squeezing past the branches of the tree they sat under, could feel its warmth, but couldn't feel anything about what he'd just heard.  
  
Blair was acutely aware of his stitches, the way they twitched and tugged if he moved 'just so' and he was very aware of bandages not making nice with his chest hair, which was growing back in. He could smell the ocean breeze, the fresh saltiness of it, could hear the voices of several children playing several yards away, but he couldn't seem to zero in on the words just spoken or the emotions behind them.  
  
Maybe something was wrong with him.  
  
He'd wanted to know who his father was for as long as he could remember. But he'd always assumed the man to be dead - not that his mother had ever said it in just those words - no, he could remember the exact way she'd put it when he'd asked at the age of six.  
  
"He's no longer with us, sweetie…."  
  
Her expression had been, to a six-year-old, appropriately sad, and so, in much the same way he'd handled her explanation of his cat Louie's sudden disappearance, he'd trotted off to play with….  
  
…to play with….  
  
He'd headed for the stables and GM.  
  
To play with GM.  
  
The place he'd always gone when things were really bad or really good. The *person* he'd always sought out when disappointed, puzzled, sad or extremely happy.  
  
Blair's eyes drifted closed as he accepted the fact that what his conscious mind hadn't known - the rest of him had.   
  
So many emotions hit him then - swarmed over him, taking his breath away.  
  
***  
  
He was done. There were no words left to say, he'd told Blair everything. He felt drained but oddly peaceful. Of course, he hadn't looked at Blair since finishing, but still, unburdening oneself - telling the truth - was freeing.  
  
A strangled gasp from his left caught his attention and he lifted his head to look at Blair.  
"Oh, God, Blair, are you all right?" He was up instantly, fully prepared to take him to the ER if necessary.  
  
"Sit…sit," Blair murmured, waving a nervous hand in the direction of the bench. "I'm just processing."  
  
Emotions draining rapidly, GM sat.  
  
After what seemed like the proverbial eternity, Blair finally said, "So…I have three fathers and one really famous, if no longer rich, boyfriend."  
  
Nonplussed, GM could only stare at his son.  
  
"I seem to be," Blair went on to say, "surrounded by men who love me." He looked out at the ocean and added, "I'm pretty damn lucky even if my boyfriend *is* broke now."  
  
"Maybe not so broke," GM said, still in shock. "Simon bought the movie and as soon as you're well enough, it gets finished. Cyclops is still willing to distribute." He gulped as he realized what he'd just said. "Er…I probably shouldn't have told you that. I'm pretty sure Jim wanted that honor."  
  
"Simon…Simon *bought* the movie?"  
  
GM nodded. "They were going to shelve it - end it."  
  
"Why, those bastards…how dare they even consider…and after all Jim's been through…and he was making a *great* movie, damn it!"  
  
"That's why Simon did what he did. Jim would have just let it go - his attention was kind of focused elsewhere, if you know what I mean." GM, having regained some of his composure, rightly realized that any discussion about whether Jim *could* complete it was better left to Jim and Blair so kept his mouth shut on that score. Seeing no evidence of any anger in his son, he found himself unable not to ask the burning question. "How can you take this so well, Blair? I left – deserted - your mother when she needed me most. I *deserted* you."  
  
"Yeah, for how long? Years and years? Hell, no. You barely lasted two. And I suspect you wish now, more than anything, that you'd approached mom, revealed yourself to her. Instead, you took a backseat to our lives, content to remain in the shadow, watching and caring and protecting. Maybe it was fear again, maybe you foolishly thought she'd take me and never come back, or maybe you didn't feel worthy to go to her, but whatever it was, you suffered enough." He placed a hand on GM's arm and added, "And no matter what else I might think, you were always there for me. I was one damn lucky guy."  
  
Another silence stretched between them, but this one was considerably more comfortable even though Blair was processing what Simon had done while GM processed his son's forgiveness. Eventually GM figured it was time to get Blair home and was just about to suggest it when Blair asked, "What do the initials stand for, anyway?"  
  
Surprised, but knowing exactly what Blair was curious about, he said, "You've never asked before."  
  
Smiling, Blair looked at him. "No, no, I never did. I was always having too much fun trying to guess. But now, well, in a way, your name is my name, so I'd like to know."  
  
"Gareth Mooney," he said, his disgust clearly showing.   
  
"Gareth? Did you just say… Gareth? A cowboy named Gareth…."  
  
"No, a rodeo rider named GM," GM said with a chuckle.  
  
"Blair…Mooney," Blair murmured. "Blair Sandburg-Mooney." He grinned again. "Has a certain ring to it, doesn't it…Dad?"  
  
As surprised as he was by Blair's sudden acceptance, GM couldn't help but respond to the smile…and the use of "Dad". He grinned in return and said, "It does, but Jim might have other ideas."  
  
Blair frowned, tugged at his earring, and said, "Oh, yeah. James Ellison-Sandburg-Mooney…not good on the marquee."  
  
GM burst out laughing.  
  
End part 6


	7. Chapter 7

Simon and Joel were standing in the doorway of Jim's home as GM parked. He indicated the two men and said, "Not that they were worried - or anything."

Blair gave his 'other' fathers a thumbs up as he said, "No, God forbid they should be worried, the Senior Mother Hens."

Before Blair could even get the door of the car open, Simon and Joel were there, bombarding him with questions.

"What did the doctor--"

"Did he take out the stitches--"

"When do you go back--"

"Was everything okay? Why were you gone so--"

GM, trying hard not to laugh, got the chair out of the back and rolled it over to Blair, who promptly shook his head.

"I'm going to walk inside, need to stretch my legs a bit."

Simon looked over at GM and asked, "Can he do that?" while Joel asked at the same time, "Should he do that?"

Waving them all aside, Blair got out slowly and started walking toward the front door even as he said, "He can and he should."

Once he'd disappeared inside, Simon tugged on GM's shirt and said, "Well?"

"He's fine, healing beautifully and the stitches come out in three more weeks, which is his next visit. And yes - I told him. His primary concern appears to be how Jim will fit 'James Ellison-Sandburg-Mooney' on the marquee." With that, GM, smug smile in place, followed Blair indoors.

Joel looked over at Simon and said, "Mooney? Did you know--"

"I sign the checks, Joel."

Looking sheepish, Joel said, "Oh, yeah." He leaned in closer and asked, "So what's his  
first--"

"Gareth."

Taken aback, Joel repeated, "Gareth? Are you kidding me?"

"Nope."

They walked toward the house with Joel muttering "Gareth" over and over again.

***

"So what did the doctor say?" Jim asked as he joined Simon, Joel and GM out on the patio.

"Everything's fine," Simon answered. "He's been asleep for a couple of hours. We figured we'd wake him in time for dinner."

Jim dropped his jacket over the back of one of the patio chairs, twisted off the cap on the beer he'd grabbed from the fridge and, after the first much-needed swallow, asked, "Stitches?"

"Three weeks, as planned. He's right on schedule. GM even took him to lunch - a place called King's Head," Joel said.

Jim looked over at GM, and seeing the happy shine in the blue eyes, said, "King's Head, uh? Good choice for fish and…conversation."

"I don't know - I had the bangers and mash and the good conversation took place at the park overlooking the ocean."

"Ah. Good spot. Peaceful." Jim gave GM the once over and said, "You look healthy, no bruises or anything."

"No, no bruises." GM looked up at Simon and Joel, who were standing near the deck railing, the sunset behind them. "They raised a wonderful young man. Forgiving, accepting and only slightly evil."

Eyebrow arched, Jim asked, "Evil?"

"Oh, yeah. When he wakes up, why don't you ask him about names on marquees?"

Puzzled, Jim looked from Simon to Joel and back to GM. Finally he asked, "I don't want to know, do I?"

Laughing, Simon said, "Not really, but ask him anyway."

At that, GM got up and said, "And speaking of dinner, what say I get the barbecue fired up for those steaks?"

"Sounds good. Simon and I will head into the kitchen and start on the salad and get the corn ready."

"And me," Jim said while looking over his shoulder and toward the main bedroom, "I'll go wake sleeping beauty."

With that, he put his beer down on the table and headed inside, the others watching him go. When he was out of sight, Simon said, "There he goes, James Ellison-Sandburg-Mooney."

All three laughed until Joel said, "You do know he heard that, right?"

The frivolity came to an abrupt halt.

***

Frowning, Jim walked down the hall to the bedroom and wondered what the hell this whole "James Ellison-Sandburg-Mooney" thing was all about. The bedroom door was partially closed so he pushed it open quietly and walked inside. Blair was asleep on top of the covers but an afghan had been draped over the lower half of his body, probably by GM. From his vantage point, and using his sentinel sight, he could see how good Blair looked. His color, the peaceful way he was sleeping, and his breathing, all assured him far better than words that his partner was really and truly on the mend.

Jim decided to help his partner wake up by opening the drapes and allowing the magenta glow of the sunset into the room. Once that was accomplished, he sat down on the edge of the bed and started playing with Blair's curly hair - an admitted addiction.

"You have a fetish for my hair," Blair finally mumbled.

"I do indeed. *All* your hair."

Eyes still closed, Blair smiled softly and said, "Only three more weeks and the stitches come out."

"So I heard. Then I can play all I want, eh?"

"You actors, dirty-old-men, all of you."

"Very true, and you, sir, are now an actor."

"Not yet, I'm not. And speaking of which - I understand Simon bought the movie. Oh, and my last name could have been Mooney except that there's a real possibility that if GM had stuck around, mom would never have taken his name even if they'd gone in for the whole marriage thing anyway, which I don't think mom would - she wasn't really the marrying type, but I think she would have stayed with him because she told him about me." At the weird look on Jim's face, he added, "Mom and guys…well, she never stuck around them long, but of course, that might be *because* of GM leaving her, but really, she was always…well, she was the original flower child, you know?"

With a look of wonder on his face, Jim said rather weakly, "You know, you're the only person I know who can wake up talking - non-stop. You're…amazing."

"This is very true. I *am* amazing. I'm also hungry. Starved, in fact."

"GM is getting the barbecue ready, Simon and Joel are working on the salad and corn, so how 'bout I get to work on the meat and you do your famous beans?"

Throwing off the afghan - carefully - Blair said, "I'm up for that - but bathroom first. Meet you in the kitchen."

"Chair?" Jim asked as Blair moved cautiously to the edge of the bed in preparation for getting up.

"I…don't think so."

"It'll be easier in the kitchen."

"I-okay, maybe."

Smiling, Jim said, "I'll go get it while you do your thing in the bathroom. Be back in a flash."

"Don't get too flashy, it's gonna take me a bit." He ran his tongue over his teeth. "Gotta brush. Icky."

"Yeah? Let me see…."

Jim started to lean over to kiss him but Blair put his hand between their mouths. "Nope. After."

"Jerk."

Waving his hand toward the door, Blair said, "Go get the chair. Kissing when you get back."

"With an incentive like that, who could refuse?"

***

The moon was full and so was Blair's stomach. Completely stuffed, he was reclining on one of the chaise lounges and allowing the sound of the ocean to lull him into a very relaxed state. Simon was enjoying his cigar several feet away and at the railing so the smoke wouldn't bother anyone, Joel by his side, their shoulders just brushing. GM was inside, having insisted on doing the clean-up, but he wasn't alone; Jim was with him.

Blair smiled at that thought. The days of GM's pretending to be a major domo were over, that was for sure. But breaking him of the habit wouldn't be easy. In fact, the only possible way would be to…hire a real one. Blair's grin widened at that thought.

His gaze drifted back toward his "other" fathers, the intimacy between them so blindingly obvious. Blair hoped that when he and Jim had been together as long, they'd be just as in love.

Damn, he still couldn't believe his day. He'd gained a father and discovered there was still hope for The Front Runner. Of course, there was still the fact that it was Simon who'd purchased the movie and it would have to go beyond their expectations to pay him back, let alone make a profit now, and he suspected that wouldn't rest easy on Jim.

No, not at all.

Maybe things weren't so wonderful after all. Maybe he and Jim needed to have a long talk tonight when they went to bed.

***

Jim really liked the hospital bed. It was comfortable, adjustable and roomy, okay, not as big as their king, but still, he fit, and without having to worry about jostling Blair and his injury. Maybe they'd keep it.

He took off his socks, balled them up and tossed them overhand toward the hamper. When they landed on top of his shirt, he gave a small "Yoohaw", stood up and slipped out of his jeans.

"Nice," Blair commented from his place in bed.

Jim gave him a little wiggle and had to grin at the snort that greeted it.

"You shouldn't be advertising something I can't avail myself of for a few more weeks - it's rude."

"Poor baby," Jim said with a grin. He put his jeans on the back of the chair and climbed into bed.

"How did the meeting go today? You doing the movie?"

"Probably. I don't relish the idea of being broke."

"You know, it seems so weird for you to own the book rights, but not to have--"

"I know, Chief, I know. But that's Hollywood. I knew the risks going in--"

"Oh, gosh, I don't think anyone could have predicted what happened, Jim. I just think it's rotten that the studio profits no matter what and you lose everything."

Jim turned on his side and propped his head on his hand. He slid his other hand under the blanket and rested it on Blair's abdomen. "I haven't lost everything, Blair. And we have your money to fall back on - should we need it."

"But the movie isn't likely to recoup--"

"Actually, now that the studio is out of it - and has only the distribution rights - a successful profit margin changes considerably. If we can get the movie in the can, go into post production, keep it under six weeks, and release in the fall, we have a real chance. We're going to miss our original summer release, but that could be a good thing. This is probably better suited to the fall audience anyway, in spite of the whole Summer Olympics thing."

"You really sound…you sound like it's going to happen," Blair said in wonder.

"It has to, Chief. There's no way we're going to let Alexis - or anyone else - stop this movie. It's too important and we've sacrificed too much."

"Well, *go* Jim," Blair said, smiling wide.

Jim reached over and stroked a finger down Blair's cheek. "I just hope I can…."

Unable to finish, Jim suddenly rolled onto his back.

"You just hope what, man?" Blair asked.

"Nothing. Just stray thoughts."

Blair rolled his eyes, reached over and tugged at Jim until the older man had moved back on his side and had his head pillowed on Blair's stomach. "Number one, you don't have stray thoughts and number two, you can't fool me so don't even try. Now, why not save us both a lot of trouble and nagging on my part - and just tell me. You'll feel *so* much better," he cajoled as he massaged Jim's scalp.

"Damn, you're good," Jim said lazily, the massage already starting to work.

"So…tell me."

"I…I don't know if I can shoot…that scene again. See you fall."

With the trite light bulb going off over his head, Blair closed his eyes and mentally chastised himself. He should have known. Okay, he knew now, so he needed to fix it.

"So don't," he said softly. "You have the race on film - and you have reaction shots. Elaborate on them, add dialogue stating what they're seeing, and *then* cut back to me on the ground."

"I'd like nothing better, Chief, but if we're going to do the film right, do justice to the book, the spirit of the book, and to Billy…I need to film it as planned."

"O-kay…but you don't have to direct that scene. Let Rob do it. The work's been done, you can transfer your vision to him easily enough."

"And what, I just…stay home that day?"

Smiling, Blair said, "Yep. Well, the hotel anyway, or your trailer." He let his voice go a bit hard as he added, "You either shoot it, or stay away while Rob does it. That's it, Jim, those are your only choices."

"I hate it when you're right."

"There's something to be considered, though," Blair went on as if Jim hadn't spoken. "For Harlan, it was over - Billy never got up. That wasn't the case with us, nor will it be when you get the shot in the can. I'll get up and we'll have The Front Runner to show for it."

Jim gripped Blair's thigh - perhaps a bit too tightly - and whispered, "Amen."

***

Eight weeks later

Blair had been right, Jim mused. He'd only had two choices where filming the final scene on the schedule. He could do it - or let Rob do it while he hid in his trailer.

He gazed around the stadium and nodded in satisfaction. They were ready.

There would be no hiding for Jim Ellison.

He could see Blair warming up and it was so much like the last time that he felt his throat close up.

He needed control.

Suddenly Blair stopped, turned his head, spotted Jim - and smiled - brilliantly. The warmth of that smile reached Jim, heated the cold knot of fear and memory, and just like that - he was relaxed.

The press was all over the place, but with agreements that none of the actual filming would be released. They were allowed to take pictures as directed by Rob, but that was it. The restrictions hadn't even slowed them down. This was major news.

The media had been locked out of Jim's life for weeks now with every major network trying to get an interview. He'd even received a personal phone call from Barbara Walters, one that he'd taken and promised that when ready, she'd be the first he'd talk to. Later, as Blair moved forward with his recovery, Jim continued to refuse interviews or to allow his public relations team to release anything more than the most perfunctory of statements.

"Blair Sandburg's condition continues to improve and yes, the intent upon his full recovery is to finish The Front Runner."

As a result of the refusals and the meaningless quote repeated over and over, rumors that during the filming had been practically non-existent, started up with a vengeance.

Rumors surrounding Jim's sexuality - and Blair's.

Jim had ignored it all.

Of course, when it came time to start filming again, the success of the movie demanded that he allow the press into his life again, and because he was Jim Ellison, they waltzed in as though they'd never been gone. Not to mention the fact that The Front Runner was now the biggest story they could hope to cover. It was *how* they covered it that mattered to Jim, and that was why he'd called Barbara Walters back. One quiet, heartfelt interview later and the press were once again eating out of his hand. Of course, the fact that during the interview he managed *not* to divulge anything important - sexual orientation wise - was a testament to his skill in manipulating the press. A skill learned the hard way over the years. But still, it had been a ratings winner and here they were, back in Montreal, ready to finally close the book on the filming of The Front Runner with the press quietly shifted to the side where they waited and watched - and when allowed, filmed and photographed.

Okay, enough with the ruminations - it was time to get the camera rolling. He was ready, thanks to that grin from Blair, so he gave the nod to Rob, who sent out the signal. The runners got into place, Blair took his spot at the point where Billy breaks away and takes the lead, and all went eerily quiet. Jim suspected that a pin dropping would have sounded like thunder at that moment. He wanted to look over his shoulder, to reassure himself regarding security, to gaze up at the spot where Alexis had stood, rifle in hand, but all he'd see were empty seats and the oddly spaced security man. Besides - he had a scene to film.

The buzzer went off and once more - Billy Sive ran - only to fall.

***

Blair quickly scrambled to his feet, eager to make sure everyone knew he was fine. He brushed off his running shorts and really hoped there'd be no retake. That was a foolish dream, but still, he only had so many scrambles to offer up. He could see Jim, trying to look very cool, smile and wave him over to the monitor, so he grabbed the cold drink GM shoved into his hand and, together, they walked over to the set-up.

"How's it look?" Blair asked as he wiped his face down.

Turning a shining face toward him, Jim said, "It's a take. That's it. We're done."

Well, what do you know, Blair thought. Foolish dreams do come true.

***

Epilogue - One Year Later

"How's my tie?"

"Perfect, now quit fussing."

"I'm not fussing," Jim whined.

"You are. You're a nervous wreck."

"Okay, I might be a bit…anxious, but I'm *not* nervous."

Blair simply rolled his eyes and finished with his own tie. As he slipped his vest on, he said, "Are you sure you want to do it tonight?"

"I'm positive. It won't be a surprise to many, but we've spent the last year holding our breaths - daring anyone to bring it up - and I'm tired of it. We have a mega-hit and we're set financially for life, and if I never work in this town again, it'll be okay with me. And I know you won't be heartbroken."

Grinning, Blair said, "No, that's true. No heartbreak here. Although making that Spielberg flick was fun."

"Well, sure. No one was trying to kill you - if you don't count the aliens."

Checking his cuffs before slipping into his tux jacket, Blair said, "And we're not - counting the aliens, I mean."

Jim leaned languidly against the dresser and watched his partner as he asked, "What did you make on that flick again?"

Blair took a leather tie and started to pull his hair back as he answered cagily, "Enough."

"My little mega-star," Jim said proudly, glad that it had been Blair who'd gone before the cameras again and not him after all.

"Little? Hey, I look *huge* on the big screen."

Jim rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, "Maybe you'd miss it after all."

Blair looked up sharply, saw the humor in Jim's eyes, and chuckled. "Yeah, like I'd miss a trip to the dentist."

Jim straightened and took the tie from Blair's hand. "Leave it down," he asked, his voice husky.

"I really shoul--"

"For me?"

Looking up into Jim's eyes, seeing the need, love - and a healthy dose of lust - Blair could do nothing more than nod. Jim set the tie down, palmed Blair's cheek and kissed him, long and deep. When he pulled away, both of them a bit breathless, he said, "We'd better get out to the living room or we'll be very late."

Blair swallowed hard, but nodded in agreement and they left the bedroom and headed for the living room where Simon, Joel and GM waited.

***

"So tell me how this works again?" GM asked as the limo came to a slow stop three blocks from the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion.

"When we're a block away, the limo will stop at a designated point and you'll all exit the car and head for the theater - and don't ask - I don't get it, either," Jim said as he looked apologetically over at Tony's wife, Sheila, and then down at her high heels.

She grinned and said, "I'm a New Yorker, Jim. Walking in heels is mandatory and a small Los Angeles block is nothing to us tough city girls."

"Our blocks *are* shorter, so that's something, I guess. Anyway, you'll be escorted to our seats while Blair and I do the whole red carpet crap, but then we'll join you. They have monitors inside so you won't miss anything."

"Yeah," Tony said, "Wouldn't want to miss a minute of the red carpet show. I'm dying to know what Gwenyth Paltrow will be wearing tonight."

Sheila patted his knee and said, "Versace. I read it in People Magazine."

"Damn, now you've spoiled it," Tony groused.

"You'll survive," Jim said, grinning.

"You bet I will. And winning fifty off of you tonight will ensure my survival."

"I think that Brit movie is more likely to win," Jim said. "But I like your spirit. I may even feel sorry when I take *your* fifty."

The limo continued its slow progression toward the theater and another half hour passed in quiet talk, sipped champagne and appetizers that would have to hold them until much later at the Academy dinner. Eventually the car reached the point where GM, Simon, Joel, Tony and Sheila were let out and met by Academy escorts. With a wave, they headed east toward the Pavilion. Blair would have preferred GM staying with him, but he'd been very sensitive to Simon's and Joel's feelings so had never said anything. The last months had been full of adjustments on all their parts, sure, but Blair had felt the responsibility of juggling three men - one, his father biologically and now spiritually, the other two his fathers spiritually but not biologically. There was also the completion of the movie, which had entailed several looping sessions and hours of watching - and sometimes helping - Jim and Jessie Wyler edit the film. In the end, Simon and Joel were happy, GM ecstatic and they'd made their fall deadline with the movie opening to rave reviews and lines around the block.

And now they were attending the Academy Awards with Jim as a multiple nominee thanks to his nod in both the best actor and best director category - not mention his producing kudos should the movie win Best Picture. Blair's performance, while it had won him the Screen Actor's Guild Award as best actor, had been overlooked by the Academy, but he hadn't been in the least upset, especially when Ben garnered a Best Supporting Actor nomination for his role as Vince.

Blair hadn't been all that impressed by his SAG award, especially since it had been instead of Jim. But he figured it had been a sympathy vote. Get shot making what turned out to be a popular film and we give you an award. Huh-uh. Sure.

"This is it, Blair."

"We still going to do it?"

Jim nodded. "Definitely. Besides, it's going to be obvious by the fact that we're here - together, sans females. In one form or another, it *will* be asked, so tonight, we answer."

"They're going to say we deliberately waited--"

Jim held up a hand in warning. "I know, Chief. But in all reality, as miraculous as it is, no one in the last year has actually come out and asked us. So they can say what they want. And besides, we *did* choose to wait. As underhanded as that may seem to some, the fact is, we had a movie to protect, one that had to do well for so many. People were depending on us to succeed and - while I hate the phrase, 'the end justifies the means' - in this case, it's accurate."

"Hey, you're preaching to the choir, man. I just want to make sure you're not going to miss what's on the other side of that bridge you're about to burn down, because no matter how enlightened folks pretend to be, no matter the success of the movie, the fact is that once you say it, it will change everything for you - for us."

Jim took Blair's hand, squeezed tight, and said, "You're the only thing that's ever changed 'everything' for me, Chief."

"Thing? *Thing*?"

Rolling his eyes, Jim muttered, "You sure know how to ruin a romantic moment, Sandburg."

Laughing, Blair gave Jim a quick kiss and said, "Can't afford to get too romantic, we're almost there - just three limos away."

"Damn," Jim said, grinning.

Blair's expression went serious again as they both watched the flash bulbs going off for the star couple currently exiting their limo. "Jim…everything really will change…."

"I know, I know." He looked down at his partner, tugged a curl, and said, "Tony thinks we'd make good private investigators. Says I'm a human crime lab. We could have a second - okay, for you, a third - career. How does that sound?"

"Mmm, Sandburg and Ellison Detective Agency…not bad, man. Not bad at all."

"I swear, you actors are all alike. Always need top billing," Jim huffed.

Blair didn't have a chance to respond as their limo had reached the red carpet area and both PR men and security were reaching for the door.

Flashes went off from both sides of the long corridor created by bleachers and the press as they both exited the car. Screaming crowds cheered and yelled out what seemed to be "Ellison-Ellison-Ellison" and, for a moment, it proved so overwhelming that Blair almost forgot to remind Jim to turn everything down a couple of notches. He might have anyway if the man hadn't gripped his arm with fingers of nervous, twitchy steel. But at his whispered command, Jim ducked his head a moment, then smiled, relaxed and, together, they started walking the gauntlet, as Jim called it.

Blair had seen enough Academy Award shows and pre-shows to know what he was supposed to do - which was wave every now and then at the crowds, who oddly enough, were also chanting, "Blair, Blair, Blair!". A few fans leaned dangerously over the railings in hopes of a handshake, kiss or autograph, but Jim had been clear that responding was a no-no, so Blair just smiled, waved, said, “Hi,” (okay, with noise, the best he could do was mouth the word) and kept on walking. Then they hit the media part of the gauntlet and it was sound byte time.

As it happened, it was Joan Rivers who asked the question he and Jim had been waiting for.

***

Blair watched as one of their 'escorts' leaned close to Jim and whispered Joan Rivers' name. Jim nodded and, a moment later, they were facing the comedienne.

"Are you excited about tonight, Jim?" she asked after commenting on their tuxedos and incorrectly guessing Armani.

"Of course. This is a huge night for the film and we're all hoping it does well."

"Eight nominations for a breakthrough picture like The Front Runner had to be surprising for you--"

"Definitely. The subject matter - two men falling in love - didn't bode well for turning a profit, let alone winning any awards, but we," he put his arm around Blair's waist and pulled him closer, "my partner and I, felt it was a story that needed telling. Tonight is simply the icing on the cake."

Joan couldn't have kept her gaze from traveling down to where Jim's arm now rested to save her life. Nor could she have kept her next words inside.

"So the rumors are true, then?" She looked from Jim to Blair. "You two are a couple?"

Jim chuckled and asked with a wink, "A couple of what, Joan?" He waited a beat as she laughed delightedly before adding, "If you mean, are we also a couple of men in love, the answer is…yes. Just like millions of people around the globe, Blair and I were lucky enough to find one another and I've certainly never been happier."

Eyes misty, Joan leaned forward and kissed first Jim, then Blair, on the cheek before clearing her throat and asking, "Blair, this must an incredible night for you. Your first movie and it's nominated for eight prestigious awards. What are you feeling right now?"

"Excited, as you can imagine. And maybe a bit overwhelmed, but in a good way." He leaned in conspiratorially and said, "Between you and me, though, I think we'll make a clean sweep."

She laughed again and the brief interview was over as they were hustled forward to more mini-interviews.

And so it went. Same questions asked over and over again, but Blair was very aware that word about them had spread up and down the line.

Jim Ellison had come out on national television.

Blair was pretty damn sure he'd never been more proud of either of them.

He smiled, answered repeated questions with patience and took the inane questions with humor. But eventually they were inside and he could breathe again. They were escorted to their seats in the front row, but both stopped before reaching them, Blair to talk to Ben Elder and Jim to shake hands with Tom Hanks, who was seated across the aisle. When Blair slid into his seat next to GM, his father whispered, "Well, that was sure surprising. You don't think you should have told all your fathers?"

"And spoil the surprise?" Blair whispered back with a glance over at Simon and Joel, who were grinning.

Simon leaned over and said, "We're pretty damn proud, Blair. Shocked, but proud. Surprised, but proud. And you're in so much trouble, Son…."

Eyes twinkling, Blair laughed lightly even as he fought back the urge to hug all three of his 'fathers'.

***

"Wow, it's…shiny," Blair said as he stared at Jim's Oscar for Best Actor.

"So observant, Sandburg," Jim snorted.

Jim was back in his seat having spent over twenty minutes of the show backstage after his win for Best Actor, answering a barrage of questions from the press. But at least he'd made it back in time for the Best Director announcement. The show was almost over and so far, of the eight nominations, The Front Runner had picked up five, the award for Best Supporting Actor being their only loss to date. Ben had been the first one to start clapping for veteran actor, James Coburn, who won for a little-seen film called "Affliction."

The most stirring win for the movie - other than Jim's - had been the award for Best Cinematographer. A shocked and clearly emotional Cal Demond had hurried down the aisle, stopping long enough to grab Jim and hug him fiercely before continuing up to the stage. With tears in his eyes, he'd spent his time on the stage praising Jim to the skies and thanking him for his vision and the opportunity to be a part of bringing the film - and thus Billy and Harlan - to life. He'd been led off-stage to a standing ovation almost as large as the one that had greeted Jim's win.

Hell, Blair was still tingling over Jim's 'speech'….

"Wow. I have to say…I'm really surprised. Of course this being the second one, I guess that proves I'm really an actor, so even if I weren't surprised, you'd never know it, right?"

When the audience laughter died down, he said cheekily, "I really have to thank my director for this, because without him, I could never have been convincing as Harlan Brown." There was more laughter even as his expression changed. He gripped the statuette a bit tighter as, in a voice now very serious, said, "If I could split this in two, I'd keep the clone because this one is going to my partner, Blair Sandburg, who brought Billy Sive to life for all of us and…gave me my life back." He looked up then, and easily found Blair in spite of the lights in his eyes. Smiling, he finished with, "Thanks, Chief."

Blair could still hear the wild applause as Helen Hunt had led Jim from the stage, the audience on its feet, showing its approval of who he was. Of course, when it came down to it, only time would tell how much that applause and approval would mean in the bright light of day and when it truly sunk in that the great, heroic, handsome action star was gay.

Blair smiled because bottom line was that neither of them cared.

"Here it comes," GM whispered as Kevin Costner was introduced.

Blair reached for, and found, Jim's hand. Squeezing it hard, he said softly, "Statuette number two, coming up…."

***

"…and the winner for Best Director is…. James Ellison for The Front Runner!"

"Yes!" Blair hissed out as he turned to Jim. "Go, go, go," he urged.

Jim rose a bit unsteadily to his feet, this win even more of a shock than the last. Simon and Joel were up and immediately hugged him, which was quickly followed by a hug from Tony before Jim was able to take the few steps up to the stage. Costner handed him the Oscar and pulled him in for a hug before releasing him to once again face the audience.

"If you don't mind, I think I'm going to have to say…wow… again. I admit I had a small speech prepared for Best Actor on the off chance - but I didn't use it and it's still in my pocket. But for this - I've got nothing."

With that, he quickly thanked his crew and the actors, joking that if he left anyone out, he'd never work in "this town" again. Then he took a deep breath and, choking up only slightly, said, "This one is going to Patricia, the incredible author of The Front Runner - because let's face it, there would have been no movie without the story she had to tell. Her vision became mine and I thank her from the bottom of my heart." He raised the Oscar up and, to the thunderous applause of the audience, walked off the stage with Kevin.

GM leaned in and said, "He'd better get the Best Picture Oscar so he has one to actually keep, or does he plan on giving that one away too?"

Chuckling, Blair said, "Not that I know of, but come on, the one he's giving me isn't going far."

"Very true."

***

Jim slid back into his seat as Blair said, "Just in time to get back up again."

Shaking his head, Jim said, "Nah, I already told you it's going to the Brits again."

Blair was pretty certain it would be The Front Runner, after all, hadn't his intuition been right about Jim's first two Oscars? Yep. And only Blair knew that the upcoming category really mattered. It represented validation for making a controversial film, one that everyone said couldn't be a hit, couldn't go mainstream, wouldn't be accepted.

They both knew that a win tonight wouldn't ensure a continued career for either of them but they weren't looking for that.

The evening's hostess, Whoopie Goldberg, stepped back up to the podium and, after a couple of quips, said, "And to present the award for Best Picture, Mr. Harrison Ford!"

The actor stepped out into the limelight and Blair sent up a prayer. The Front Runner deserved the Oscar - and he had every faith that it would win, but a prayer couldn't hurt.

He really didn't care what the future held, as long as he and Jim were together, GM was by his side and Simon and Joel were no more than a phone call away. Whether they continued in the business, retired altogether, or tried something else - like private investigation…he couldn't help the grin.

Right, and Jim would be so unobtrusive on stake-outs.

"…producers, Gianluigi Braschi, Mario Cotone, John M. Davis, Elda Ferri, Agnes Mentre and John Rogers…."

On the other hand, a career helping others wouldn't be so bad - kind of like law enforcement, actually. Yeah, he'd like that.

"…producers, Ian Bryce, Bonnie Curtis, Kevin De La Nov, Mark Gordon, Mark Huffam, Gary Levinson, AllisonLyon Segan and Steven Spielberg…."

Who knew what he and Jim could do together, with his incredible senses?

Feeling incredibly lucky, and grateful, he thought briefly of a fictional young runner and his dreams - and of a world that had killed him. Maybe he and Jim had changed that world - fractionally. Maybe in ways they were yet to know - they'd go on changing it for the better. After all, Jim was a guardian, a sentinel.

"…The Front Runner, producers, James Ellison, Blair Sandburg, Simon Banks, Gareth Mooney, and Joel Taggart…."

Smiling, Blair listened….

"And the winner is…."

The End


End file.
